


can't play on broken strings  (or Bucky Barnes and the No Good, Truly Awful, Really Sucky Days)

by Antarctica_or_bust



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Shuri (Marvel), Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes is a sarcastic little shit, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Mid-Credits Scene, Civil War (Marvel), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Guilt, Introspection, M/M, Missing Scene, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Second Person, Pining, Poignant, Sarcasm, Self-Hatred, Steve Rogers Feels, T'Challa (Marvel) Is a Good Bro, Though I might have fudged the timing on the end scenes slightly, Through Black Panther anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarctica_or_bust/pseuds/Antarctica_or_bust
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is so done with this shit.An alternative perspective on the events of Civil War.





	can't play on broken strings  (or Bucky Barnes and the No Good, Truly Awful, Really Sucky Days)

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story when Civil War came out and was hoping to have it done before Infinity War. Clearly I failed, but my refusal to see the movie until I finished this has proved good motivation and I'm actually rather fond of the way that it turned out. Even if I couldn't pick just one title after all.

All you wanted was some fucking plums; was that too much to ask? You like plums; they’re sweet and filling and you heard they're full of vitamins that help the memory. As Hydra's number one brainwashed ex-assassin, that sounded good to you.

So you head over to the local market and find yourself some ripe ones. You even bargain the seller down from last week and you're thinking that this day might be okay despite the shitty nightmares that kept you up all night. Dumb as fuck, you know, but a guy can hope. After all, no one has tried to kill you in at least six months and even Captain America seems to have finally given up. Which is a good thing, seriously, no matter how much you want to see his stupid face sometimes.

You really should have known better.

Because you're waiting for the light when you notice that one of the kiosk vendors across the street is staring at you and that isn't a good sign. The sinking feeling grows even stronger when you take one step forward and the guy sprints off in the opposite direction, leaving his entire stall of merchandise behind. So you walk over to the kiosk to try to figure out what spooked him and your eye is caught by the newspaper lying on the counter. According to the headline and one really awful photo, you just bombed Vienna, killing the king of a country that you’ve never even heard of and injuring six dozen more.

Which is bullshit. You haven’t been near Austria in months, let alone Vienna, and if you'd actually planted that bomb, you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to look right at a camera afterward. This is either a frame up or a witch hunt but either way you're fucked. Kiosk guy is probably calling the cops already and with this kind of exposure, it won’t take very long to hunt you down.

So you head back to your apartment to grab your gear, your cap pulled low to hide your face. However, the universe isn’t quite done fucking with you yet because someone is already there when you arrive.

Captain America is standing in your kitchen, one of your journals open in his hands. He looks good, a bit tired maybe, and you want… you want to cringe when you realize that he’s staring at the pamphlet from his exhibit in DC.

Of course Steve found _that_ picture and he’s probably thinking all sorts of things he shouldn’t be right now. Indeed, when the other man turns around, his expression is so hopeful that you want to shift uncomfortably. You want to, but you don’t. Your training doesn't allow you to show that kind of weakness as the captain asks, “Do you know me?”

You haven’t heard his voice in a long time. But he still sounds so familiar – just the way that you remember – and you want to…

It doesn’t matter. You're hardly going to tell Captain America that you have vivid memories of licking whiskey off his teeth back in 1939 and by the way, that outfit does wonders for his ass. You're crazy but you ain’t that crazy and this is not the time.

So you lie. Or, at least, you don’t say the truth he wants to hear. You tell the blond that you read about him in a museum rather than admitting that he's the star of half your memories. But Steve, being Steve, refuses to accept that. The stupid punk never could leave well enough alone and he’s proved that hasn’t changed by coming here.

“I know you’re nervous and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying,” the blond tells you.

“I wasn't in Vienna. I don't do that anymore,” you say instead of admitting that he’s right. You need Steve to know that you didn’t hurt those people. You need him to believe you because the whole world thinks that you're a monster and sometimes you wonder if they’re right.

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now and they're not planning on taking you alive.”

That’s not exactly comforting, though you can’t condemn the strategy. If you were trying to kill the Winter Soldier, you would either snipe him from a distance or try to take him by surprise and if these folks are smart, they’re doing both right now.

So you have to run just like you planned. If you can get out of the city then you might have a chance, but you've got to do it fast. You don’t want Steve to be caught in the crossfire and the fool clearly has no intention of leaving like he should. Instead the other man tells you that this doesn’t have to end in a fight. Which, honestly, may be the dumbest thing that you have ever heard.

Of course this is going to end in a fight. It _always_ ends in a fight and you have no intention of getting shot today. Bullets hurt like a bitch and you only heal so fast even with Hydra’s serum running through your veins.

Both of you need to leave but Steve is convinced that this is the perfect time to have your grand reunion. He seems to think that you'll turn back into his best friend if he just hopes bad enough. Never mind the footsteps on the roof or the men creeping up the stairs.

“You pulled me from the river. Why?”

“I don't know,” you tell him. If he thinks you don’t remember, then maybe he won’t follow. Maybe Steve will let you take your chances like he should. But the idiot has always been too stubborn for his own damn good and apparently he can still read you better than any other soul alive.

“Yes, you do,” the blond replies, his jaw clenching stubbornly. You don’t know what he’s looking for. Proof that you're still Bucky Barnes? Proof that you're worth saving? Before you can decide how you should answer, your apartment windows shatter as grenades are tossed inside. This conversation is over. Now it’s simply do-or-die.

The first assault team comes in hot, filling the room with bullets to keep you occupied while the second team breaks down the door. You'd call it overkill except it isn't. In truth, it's much too little as you use your fists and half your furniture to bring the first wave down. Once those men have fallen, you block the door with your kitchen table and move to help Steve out.

“Buck, stop! You’re gonna kill someone,” he shouts, grabbing your arm as you kick one of his attackers back onto the balcony.

 _Seriously? Just, seriously?_ All you want to do is roll your eyes. But instead you just twist out of Steve's grip and throw him to the floor.

“I’m not gonna to kill anyone,” you say before punching your left fist through the floorboards to grab the pack you’ve hidden there. It has money, weapons, emergency supplies, and all your notebooks, page after page of memories that you refuse to leave behind. You throw the pack to the roof of the next building but it’s too far for you to jump so you turn back toward the door.

As you do, another soldier bursts into the room, his bullets bouncing off Steve's shield when he covers you instinctively. But you don't need protecting. So you shove Captain America into the man who just landed on your balcony, hoping that the blond will fucking stay there before he makes this any worse. You use your metal arm to deflect a burst of gunfire as the first soldier shoots again and then you take him out by the simple expedient of smashing a cinder block across his face. You said you wouldn't kill anyone; you didn't say this wouldn't hurt.

You listen for a moment and from what you hear outside, you're pretty sure the second assault team is finally ready to break in. So you get there first, kicking the door into the stairwell and laying out the soldiers with their own battering ram. Then you jump to the next landing and start working your way down the stairs.

None of these men are any challenge – apparently Special Forces ain't that special anymore – but the sheer number of them quickly proves annoying. For every soldier knocked unconscious, another three are trying to fill your head with bullets and you need to clear out before someone gets a lucky shot.

You can see Steve chasing you down the stairs, punching out the guys you missed as he runs after you. But while the extra hands are helpful, you can't completely trust him. The other man may not want you dead but he asked you to surrender and you know how that choice ends. Surrendering leads to cages and doctors digging in your brain and you can't do that again. Maybe Steve would protect you. The man that you remember would have tried. But if he couldn't stop these people, he probably has no control over what would happen if you're captured and you don't trust your memories. You can't be sure that Steve is real.

So the next time the flow of the fight brings you together, you meet his eyes deliberately before dodging a punch and throwing some poor fool off the stairs.

Steve catches him, of course. You were certain that he would. You just wanted to see if he'd make the same face that you remember when you really tick him off. You wanted to know if your messed up brain had gotten that much right. And it did. The other man's pout is a thing of beauty as he drags the soldier back to solid ground.

But you still don't know where Steve will stand when the chips go down.

So you take advantage of the blond's distraction to make your exit quickly, free-falling down the center of the stairwell until you reach a lower floor. You catch the railing with one arm, your left shoulder screaming as you pull yourself onto the landing. But you ignore the pain, kicking open the nearest door and taking a running leap off the apartment’s balcony. You land on the next roof over, rolling and grabbing your pack in one smooth motion. You can hear the soldiers shouting across the way but no normal man could make that jump so you should be free and clear for now.

However, just as you're thinking that you might get a good head start, a man in a black cat-suit tries to take your face off and all you can think is, _What the fuck?!_

This Catman has the claws to match and you dodge wildly as he throws a chain of strikes. You don’t really want to hurt him – killing people is a bad way to prove that you're not an assassin – but you might have to do some serious damage in order to get free. You can't seem to shake the bastard and eventually he manages to throw you down, claws slashing at your throat. For a second you wonder if this is how you'll die. If you survived the war and Hydra and far too many missions to be killed by some man in a cat-suit that you don't even recognize.

And then, to make your whole situation even more ridiculous, a helicopter rises up above the rooftop and starts shooting everything.

You cover your head as Catman just stands there looking irritated, the bullets bouncing off his suit. Apparently his clothes are bulletproof because why the fuck not? Honestly, you can’t even be surprised given how this day has gone.

However, it seems that Steve brought backup. His friend with the wings attacks the helicopter before its aim gets any better and you regain your feet while Catman is distracted. You grab your backpack and run for the edge of the roof, jumping to a small ledge one floor down and then dropping to the street.

But Catman is close behind as you take off running and you've only gone about a hundred yards when the chopper reappears. The gunner fills the air with bullets and Steve really wasn't kidding when he said that these folks meant to kill you. In fact, they seem prepared to cause massive amounts of collateral damage as long as you go down.

So you sprint for the nearest covered freeway and leap down to the road. Cars screech and honk as the drivers swerve around you but you just take off running once again. You glance back when you hear sirens and you almost miss a step when you see Steve behind you. Although you can't tell if he's trying to catch you or running interference, at least he and Catman don't seem to get along. However, you don't have time to worry about them. The sooner you disappear, the sooner Captain America can start apologizing, and you're not home free yet.

You skid to a halt when half a dozen police cars block the tunnel up ahead, their blue lights flashing off the walls. The police order you to stop but you don't listen; instead you dash down a tunnel to the left. You memorized every road in Bucharest for a reason after all.

The tunnel spits you out on another freeway, this one headed in the opposite direction. You need a vehicle – you can't maintain your current pace forever and the cars are catching up – but you don't want to sacrifice maneuverability. And then you see the motorcycle headed straight for you.

You shove the driver with one hand and grab his bike with the other, spinning the machine around to face the other way. You leap onto the driver's seat in midair and gun the motorcycle as soon as the tires hit the road. You weave around the other vehicles, swerving to the correct side of the freeway as you pick up speed but Catman and the police are close behind.

When you glance to your right, you see a shadow with its claws aimed at your back and you turn just in time to catch Catman by the throat. Your ride leans dangerously as he pushes off the wall, sparks flying from your metal arm when it scrapes against the road. After a brief struggle you manage to kick off your attacker and shove yourself back upright, the bike no worse for wear. However, this chase has gone on long enough and you pull a mine out of your pack when the end of the tunnel rises into view.

You stick the mine to the overpass just as you drive under and the resulting explosion blocks the freeway quite effectively. But then fucking Catman grabs you by the ankle and sends you skidding across the road. The other man lunges for you while you're still shaking off the crash but before those claws can land, a blur of red and blue tackles him. Apparently Captain America is on your side after all.

That's a damn good thing to know. It's also the only reason you don't fight when more cars surround you: soldiers, choppers, and men in metal suits with their guns all aimed at you. If you tried to fight, Steve would fight there with you and you don't want him getting hurt. It’s bad enough that the blond has made himself a criminal and if he stops now, maybe he’ll get a pardon for his fool stupidity.

So you allow these people to shove you roughly to the ground. You let them take your pack and pull your arms behind your back. You let them grind your cheek into the asphalt and you don’t try to break the cuffs even though you probably could.

“Your highness,” someone says as Catman pulls his mask off and you _know_ that you're fucked now. The king of somewhere wants you dead bad enough to try to kill you personally and damned if you know why; it's probably something to do with that bomb you didn't set and this guy doesn't seem the type to let old grudges lie.

Even if these people let you go, you'll never be done running and you have second thoughts about resisting when you see the chair inside their truck. It’s not Hydra’s chair but it’s close enough to make you twitchy when the soldiers strap you down.

You wish you could see Steve. All you can think about are secret executions and while you know the other man wouldn't let them disappear you willingly, he might not have a choice. Maybe you'd be better off if you made them kill you now. But once your plastic box of a prison gets electrified, you know you've lost your chance to fight. Resisting would only make things worse. Worse for you and worse for Steve, which matters more right now. He has a better chance of getting out alive.

So you sit in your cube like a good little soldier as you're driven to the airport and loaded on a cargo plane. A cargo plane since that’s what you are now, isn’t it? – just cargo prepped for transport – and because your captors are apparently worried that you’d knock a real jet from the sky. Somehow. Maybe with that magic EMP device you didn’t know you had.

Your guards don’t tell you this, of course; they don’t talk to you at all. But they also don’t realize that you speak German when they’re on their radios.

With nothing else to do for several hours, you eavesdrop on their conversations and you find out more than you ever wanted to know about the World Cup, commute times in Berlin, and good German coffee shops. You also discover that you've been captured by some special UN task force – weren't they supposed to be all peaceful? – and that Steve's stubborn faith in the Winter Soldier is an extreme minority. Most people think you're a crazed gun-toting psycho who shouldn’t be granted clemency and to be honest, you can't blame them. Not when you think of all the people who died because of you.

Once you land, your captors take you to their base in a goddamn motorcade. You feel like the fucking president as traffic parts before you and the comparison makes your lips twist bitterly.

Because, of course, you're not here for accolades. You’re here to be poked and prodded and examined by some prestigious mind doctor so that the UN can call you crazy and never let you go. They’ll pick apart your notebooks, digging through your brain like Hydra and claiming therapy. But you still have your secrets. You could never bring yourself to write down your best memories of Steve so at least your foolish heart won’t be on display for all the world to see. At least the other man isn't sharing in your prison; you saw him and his winged friend on your way down to the basement and while they were clearly in deep trouble, both men were walking free.

You wonder if your captors will ever let Steve talk to you. You wonder if he’ll try.

When the doctor finally arrives, you don't pay him much attention. You're too busy finding all the weaknesses in the UN's perfect prison and you don’t need some stranger’s diagnosis to know that you're fucked up. But you can't block out the shrink entirely. The man keeps calling you James even though James Buchanan Barnes was killed by Hydra years ago. What’s left is a broken amalgamation of brainwashed assassin and shell-shocked soldier and if you have to name him, there’s only one that you can pick.

So you growl, “My name is Bucky,” because that's what Steve has always called you and given the choice, that's the man you'd rather be. That man had his own issues but at least he had friends and family; at least he had a conscience that he sometimes answered to. Not that you have any intention of explaining this to Dr. Who-fucking-cares. You just hope that saying something will make him shut his mouth.

But it doesn't. The shrink keeps asking pointless questions and talking like he knows the horrors inside your brain.

He has no idea. His fancy degree means nothing when compared to what you've seen. And yet, there’s something off about this doctor. Something is making your skin crawl and while you thought the day couldn't get any worse, it seems that you were wrong.

Seriously, didn't this oh-so-special UN task force vet their psychiatrist at all? The man has barely been in your cage ten minutes before the power cuts off and he smiles creepily. You watch in horror as the doctor pulls out Hydra's favorite scarlet notebook and tries to turn you back into the Winter Soldier. Tries and succeeds because that's your fucking life right now.

Ten words and you go from panicked struggling to blank obedience. Ten words and the last few years don’t mean a goddamn thing.

Being the Winter Soldier doesn’t mean that you stop thinking. A good assassin knows how to plan ahead. Being the Winter Soldier just means that you stop questioning the orders that you're given and everyone around you becomes either an asset or a liability.

In some ways it’s much easier. It’s certainly much simpler when you never have to choose.

“Mission report: December 16th, 1991,” your new handler says and you answer with the truth. You tell him who you killed; you even tell him why and where without a moment’s hesitation. The Winter Soldier doesn’t feel shame or horror or sorrow. There is nothing but the mission. Fight or die. Succeed or suffer. The possibility of failure was tortured from the Soldier years ago.

 

_**New Mission:** Escape. **Parameters:** Do not kill. Engage as necessary. Be seen by Tony Stark. **Mission Status:** In progress._

_**Phase 1:** Captain America. **Threat:** Medium. Strong but hesitant. **Approach:** Quick and brutal. No serious damage. **Status:** Contained but alive. Will recover. Do not hesitate._

_**Phase 1 Subset:** Man with wings – no wings. Not mentioned. **Threat:** None. Useless. **Strategy:** Ignore. _

_Escape uncompromised. Let the doctor deal with him._

_**Phase 2:** UN Agents. Stark. Black Widow. **Threat:** Limited. Agents – Weak. Avengers – Unprepared. **Approach:** Straightforward. Block bullets. Eliminate weapons. Punch Stark. **Status:** Alive. Angry. Minor injuries. _

_Parameters one and three fulfilled._

_**Phase 3:** Catman. No suit. Not mission critical. **Threat:** High. Skilled. No hesitation. **Approach:** Do not. Evade. **Status:** Unimportant. _

_Move to helicopter._

_**Phase 4:** Captain America. Recovery faster than expected. **Threat:** High. Strength: Impressive. Escape: Compromised. Failure: Not an option. Alternative: Death. **Approach:** Vengeance. Remove at any cost. **Status:** Persistent._

_**Mission Status:** Helicopter damaged. Falling. Failure. **Asset Status:** Pain. Damaged. Need repairs…_

 

When you wake up, you feel like death warmed over. Your head is aching and you're nearly overwhelmed by vague memories of breaking from your prison, of punching Steve through an elevator shaft and ... really well-shaped arms? The latter is explained when you glance around the room and your eyes land on Steve standing by the doorway, the other man wearing a shirt that’s at least a size too small.

You appreciate the view – you really, really do – but you have to wonder if the blond has forgotten everything you ever taught him about going incognito. Because that's not unobtrusive. That's going to draw the attention of every dame and queer in a twenty-mile radius.

You're about to give Steve a piece of your mind when you realize that the-man-with-the-wings is standing next to him and the words die in your throat. You should have noticed his friend sooner but Steve has always drawn you like a magnet, a light so bright that he turns everyone else to shadows in your eyes. Still, you really need a better name for this guy if he plans to stick around. You can’t exactly call him Flyboy or the-man-with-the-wings while he’s still wingless and you feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of grounding him. You may not have taken his wings, not this time anyway, but the fact that he and Steve are running is definitely your fault.

You try to sit up – to apologize or ask his name or something – but you find yourself stopped short. You glance down and feel a flash of panic when you realize that your left arm is trapped in some sort of metal vise, not crushing but tight enough that you can barely move.

Instinct makes you struggle, your right hand shoving at the metal uselessly. You know that Steve wouldn’t hurt you without reason – at least, you think you do – but being trapped has rarely led to kindness in the past. This is too much like the memories that live behind your eyes and you tug a little harder, hoping that your arm will just come free somehow.

Wingless notices you first – probably because he’s the only one who’s smart enough to see you as an enemy. He calls to Steve and the blond startles slightly, his expression a mix of hope and caution when he meets your eyes.

_Stevie._

“Steve,” you murmur and the name feels like a prayer upon your tongue.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” he asks and you consider lying. Maybe if you pretend that you're still brainwashed, Captain America will simply end your misery. Maybe he'll finally kill you so that you stop being a damn anchor around his neck, one that's gonna drown him if you can't find a way to swim.

But you don't want to die. If you wanted to die, you'd have taken your own life as soon as you woke up and realized what the Winter Soldier was.

You want to live. You want to live and you're so damn tired. You're tired of being alone. Tired of missing Steve and wanting... wanting everything. You may not be Bucky Barnes – not anymore – but you were once and you're tired of hurting your best friend by pretending otherwise. You can't deny the hope that you see in his expression; that would break what's left of your damaged fucking heart.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah,” you tell Steve quietly and you feel yourself smile faintly at the memory. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

“Can’t read that in a museum,” the blond says, talking as much to Wingless as he is to you. The words have the sound of a well-worn argument and you’re not all that surprised. The two of them must have discussed what to do about you, not only now but when they were busy chasing you across five continents.

“Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Wingless asks Steve, glaring at Steve suspiciously and you have a sudden memory of throwing him straight into a wall.

“What did I do?”

“Enough,” he tells you flatly.

“Oh, god,” you whisper. They should have left you alone. The UN should have let you disappear but they didn’t and now you’ve probably racked up another body count. “I knew this would happen. Everything Hydra put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“Who was he?” Steve asks and you wish you had an answer. But that doctor wasn’t one of Hydra’s soldiers, at least not one you recognized.

“I don’t know,” you tell Steve and you can practically see Captain America replace your friend again. Because he goes from worry to duty in an instant and he doesn’t seem to care that you’re still reeling, that you could use nothing more than a fucking hug right now.

“People are dead, Buck. The bombing, the setup… The doctor did all of that just to get ten minutes with you,” the blond says, twisting the knife a little deeper. “I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know.’”

 _And I need to be sane,_ you think a little bitterly, wishing that your arm was free so you could punch him in the face. But you’ve never been able to say no when Stevie needed you and it seems that hasn’t changed. Because you’re already dredging through your memory, shoving aside the headache and the Winter Soldier’s certainty to recall just what that doctor said. “He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?”

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier,” you tell Steve, fighting against a wave of memories. “You really think that Hydra stopped making assassins after one dumb American? Once they had perfected me, they started taking volunteers.”

You’re not sure whether you say the words aloud as fractured images threaten to overwhelm you. Suddenly you’re back in Siberia, struggling to protect Hydra’s scientists from the monsters they'd created. You're cold and frozen, a puppet bound with chains beneath your skin. But then Steve’s voice brings you back to the present once again.

“Who were they?” Captain America demands and you cannot help but answer. You keep digging through your memory in order to tell him all you can. You tell him about the death squad, the killers who were your more perfect mirrors. With those assassins at their fingertips, you’re not sure why Hydra’s leaders kept dragging the Winter Soldier from the ice. Unless someone somewhere just liked to hear you scream.

“The doctor, could he control them?” the blond asks.

“Enough,” you tell him. Enough to burn the world, but not enough to hold it and perhaps that’s why your betters were put on ice instead. Hydra hasn’t wanted mass destruction since your captain killed the Red Skull, that man’s driving fanaticism replaced by scientists and bureaucrats hungry for control.

“He said he wanted to see an empire fall,” Steve replies and that sounds far too plausible. If the doctor doesn’t care about working in the shadows – if his only goal is to see whole cities burn and rivers fill with blood, then the other Soldiers could make his dreams reality. The man wouldn’t need to control them; he’d only need to point them in the right direction and set his monsters loose.

So that’s what you tell the captain. You tell him that he’d never even see the death squad coming and you mean every single word.

“This would have been much easier a week ago,” you hear Wingless mutter and you can’t help but wince again. A week ago Steve still had allies, friends that he could trust. Now all he has is this guy and an ex-assassin on the run.

You tune out the ensuing conversation, resting your aching head against the metal of the vise while the other men talk out your options. You don’t need to listen to know how fucked you are. The three of you are going to Siberia to try and stop disaster because that’s what Steve Rogers does. He charges in for justice even when he’ll probably die and you know you'll always follow, all your instincts screaming in his wake.

Eventually Steve and Wingless come to a decision and the blond walks over to free your metal arm. He plants his feet and lifts the vise until you can slip your left arm out.

“Thanks,” you mutter awkwardly. You don’t know how to act around him – the other man clearly isn’t leaving but you don’t know how to be his best friend anymore – and you focus on stretching out your muscles so that you don’t have to talk. Even then, you can feel Steve watching every motion and when you glance up, you could almost swear he’s blushing before he looks away.

“Come on. We can’t stay here,” Wingless says before you can ask Steve what he's thinking. Which, honestly, is probably for the best. There’s no way that the blond wants you the way that you want him; your scrambled brain is seeing things that really can’t be there. Captain America was a hero, not a criminal, and nothing you’ve read about James Barnes ever said that he was queer. What you think is memory might just be a lifetime of idle fantasy.

 _And I’m sure not gonna ask him if we ever used to fuck._ You aren’t sure whether you want to laugh or cry at the thought of asking Steve that question – if he didn’t throw you over for the insult, his expression would probably be hilarious – but you can’t afford to lose the only friend you have right now.

So you trail after the other men in silence, pulling on the hat and hoodie that Steve gives you gratefully. You feel better with your face and left hand covered; anything that helps to hide your identity is a damn good thing right now.

Steve and Wingless throw on caps as well, though of course the blond can’t be bothered to cover up those giant arms. You’re about ready to give the idiot a proper lecture about hiding when Wingless shoves a coat into his hands. He glares at Steve until the big lug puts it on and you decide that you approve of this guy after all. Wingless might dislike you but he has good reason and at least someone has been taking care of Steve while you were gone.

“Sam, Bucky, you stay here. I’ll go get a vehicle,” the blond orders. He disappears down the street before you can even protest and you’re left standing with his new sidekick awkwardly.

“I still don’t trust you,” Wingless – or rather Sam – mutters as soon as Steve is out of earshot. He glares at you like he thinks you’re gonna argue and you almost want to laugh.

“That’s smart,” you say instead. “I wouldn’t trust me either. I don't plan to hurt anyone on purpose but we all know how that’s worked out in the past.”

Sam gapes at you for a second, your easy acceptance of his suspicion clearly throwing him off guard. But it’s not like you don’t know what people think about you. Steve is probably the only person on the planet who believes that you’re worth saving and he’s never been one to give up on lost causes when he should. The man who took five tries to join the army isn’t exactly a poster boy for sensibility.

“Well, good. So long as we’re clear,” Sam huffs eventually. He seems almost disappointed that he doesn’t get to fight you. But as you lapse back into silence, the quiet is a bit more comfortable than it was before.

Indeed, when Steve returns with your new vehicle, you find yourself glancing over at Sam and you can see your same exasperation reflected in his eyes. Because the car is old, blue, and _tiny_ , and you doubt it could do sixty with a tailwind and a ramp.

“Seriously, Cap? That’s the car you lifted?”

“What?” the other man asks defensively. “Older cars are easier to steal and I think it’s kind of cute.”

“Yeah, for someone’s grandma,” Sam replies. “People might remember three guys like us in this.”

“Come on, Bucky. Help me out here,” Steve says, turning to you for support. But considering how your week is going, you really can’t resist the urge to give him shit for this. If he wants the friend that he remembers, he’ll have to take the good and bad together and James Buchanan Barnes was sarcastic as all hell.

“I suppose it’s unobtrusive,” you begin as he looks at you hopefully. “But I think I’m with Sam on this one. Didn’t I teach you anything about going undercover? You want a car that looks pathetic not one that really is.”

“ _Bucky,_ ” your captain protests, but you can see him smiling. “Sometimes you’re such a jerk. Don’t think you’re riding shotgun.”

“And you’re still a punk, Stevie, picking fights that you can’t win.”

The words flow off your tongue easily. Now that you aren't pretending you don’t know him, the inside jokes just spill out like muscle memory. With every friendly insult, Steve’s smile only widens and for a moment you think that you can do this. Maybe you can make Steve happy even though you’re broken. Maybe he’ll still like you anyway.

“Okay, Abbott & Costello, break it up,” Sam interrupts eventually. “If I'd known that I was signing up for the comedy duo, I might not have volunteered.”

It seems the blond's new sidekick doesn't like to miss out on the banter and you're happy to fade into the background for the moment, your thoughts still a little scrambled from before. You stare out the car window while the other men argue over the best place to lie low for the evening. They both have definite opinions but you honestly couldn’t care less about where you end up. Warm, dry and safe are the only things you hope for and you’ve gotten by without all three before.

Seriously, you’ve slept in ditches and sometimes Steve was in there with you, but apparently the other man has higher standards now. When he and Sam finally reach a compromise, you find yourself breaking into an abandoned hotel in former East Berlin, one of those classy joints that were built for luxury. People these days prefer convenience over grandeur and according to the signs plastered all across this building, it’s going to be replaced with apartments soon enough.

Which is actually a damn shame because the place is gorgeous once you finally sneak inside. Towering ceilings and ten-foot chandeliers greet you at the entrance, along with a grand staircase large enough for a full-grown man to slide down the banister.

You know because you try it when Steve and Sam aren’t looking. Your captain is off checking the perimeter while the other man left the hotel to buy a phone and some supplies. You felt a little paranoid when Sam walked out of sight, but knowing that Steve trusts him means you have to show some trust as well.

Thankfully the staircase proves a good distraction – the wood creaks a bit alarmingly when you hop onto the banister but you finish the slide down in one piece. You’ve wanted to do that ever since you saw it in a film and you just couldn’t miss your chance. Because this place reminds you of the Ritz – of heading to work at the docks while beautiful people swept through those sparkling doors and knowing that you would never do the same. The Ritz had a grand staircase, you could see it through the window, and the memories seem closer to the surface than they’ve ever been before.

Maybe it’s the location or maybe it’s just Steve since the blond seems to feel the same nostalgia in the air. When Sam comes back with two giant bags of takeout, you eat dinner on the floor as Steve regales you both with stories from before.

“Remember when…” he says a dozen times that evening and his smile brightens every time you actually say, “Yes.”

You like to see him happy. You want to make him happy and you’d give up anything to keep that smile on his face.

Once you finish eating, Steve and Sam start making phone calls to the allies they have left while you write down everything you can remember about your former prison. You’re heading to Leipzig airport in the morning; without a plane or chopper, you’ll never reach Siberia in time.

With your plans made, the three of you turn in. But even though the bed is actually quite comfortable, you simply cannot sleep. Whenever you close your eyes, you see flashes of the Winter Soldier's actions, the UN base on endless repeat as though your brain wants to remind you that you don’t get to have good things. You don’t get to have a life or friends or some kind of happy ending and it’s dangerous to forget that. It’s dangerous to let Steve sweep you up in his delusions and make you hope again.

Because you’re not in Brooklyn and this isn’t 1940. You’re a fucking fugitive and the harder Steve holds on, the worse you’re gonna break his heart when this goes to hell. You’re not a cynic, you’re a realist, and the mission that you’re on right now can only end in pain.

Eventually, you give up on sleeping. If you drop off, you’ll probably just have nightmares anyway. So you go back to the lobby and find a chair with a decent view of all the entrances. You let your mind go empty but alert, the way you used to do when looking through your rifle and waiting for a kill.

You aren’t sure how long you sit there. The hours blend together but the faint light of dawn is starting to shine through the upper windows when you hear Steve's voice.

“Bucky, are you down there?”

The other man is standing at the top of the stairs when you come out of your trance. He’s still dressed in the clothes he slept in, sleep rumpled and achingly attractive, and your voice is quiet when you call back to him.

“Over here, Stevie.”

“There you are. You had me worried,” he says as he walks down to you. “I woke up early and saw your bed was empty. I thought you might have disappeared.”

“Sorry, pal. Just couldn’t sleep,” you tell him with a shrug.

“You sure, Bucky? It’s not something more than that?”

In this moment, the question seems ridiculous and you feel your lips twist bitterly.

“Really, Steve? You gotta ask? I didn’t have much of a life in Romania but it was mine and now it's gone. We’ll be lucky if your old friends don’t throw us both in prison and the more we reminisce about the past, the more I miss my family. So yeah, I'm fucking peachy keen right now.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Why? You’re not the one who framed me or the one who put those damn words in my brain.”

“I should have tried to find you harder,” Steve says earnestly. “Maybe then we wouldn't be here.”

“I was the one running full tilt in the opposite direction,” you tell him with a sigh. “You gotta stop taking the blame for everything. It’s not your fault this happened and it’s not your fault I fell.”

You mean the words as comfort but the blond’s expression crumples, your heart lurching in your chest when your captain starts to sob.

“Come on, Stevie, please don’t cry,” you say, standing up and patting his shoulders awkwardly. “You shouldn’t cry for me.”

“Sorry, Buck, I can’t... I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes as he just keeps sobbing harder. You used to be better at this. You used to know how to turn his tears to laughter but you can’t find the words.

So you take a deep breath in preparation – thinking _you can do this_ – and then pull Steve into your arms. It’s a little awkward at first since he’s still got inches on you and you haven’t hugged anyone in about eight decades, but you hold on until he sinks against your chest. Steve buries his face in your neck and sobs out years of heartache, clutching your shirt hard enough to bruise a normal guy.

“You’re all right, I’ve got you,” you murmur, stroking his hair gently until his weeping starts to ease. He rests his weight against you for a little longer before he finally straightens up still sniffling.

“Thanks, Bucky. I guess I needed that,” he says, his eyes red from crying but somehow lighter than before.

“You look a mess, Stevie,” you reply with a soft chuckle, reaching out to touch his cheek. Although you only mean to wipe away his tears, the touch turns into a caress somehow. Your fingers linger on his skin and your breath catches when Steve meets your eyes. Because you want to kiss him. You want to lean forward and claim his mouth like in your shattered memories and you think that he might let you. You think you see those blue eyes darken as you sway forward slightly, your hand slipping down to rest against his neck.

“Bucky,” the blond whispers and you can’t quite be certain whether it’s a question or a plea. But you know which one you’re hoping for when you shift closer, leaning up and…

“Hey, Cap! You’ve got a phone call!” Sam shouts from somewhere on the second floor. You and Steve both startle and the moment is broken instantly. By the time Sam appears at the top of the stairs, the blond has gotten himself back together and you’re wondering if you imagined the whole thing.

“It’s your friend inside the UN,” Sam says as he hands over the burner phone that he purchased yesterday. “She says she might be able to help us get our gear.”

You go upstairs to change while Steve talks to his contact and soon the three of you are climbing into your silly car again. You consider calling shotgun when Sam slides back his seat until it’s almost at your knees – apparently a good night’s sleep has just made Wingless cranky – but after this morning, it’s probably better if you aren’t sitting next to Steve. You could use a bit of distance to get yourself together; you should be focused on your mission, not your old friend’s pretty face.

Captain America over there doesn’t seem to have any trouble concentrating. Or maybe he’s just thinking about his contact since the woman waiting at your destination is a truly gorgeous dame. She reminds you of Peggy in her bearing and from what you remember of the Winter Soldier’s rampage, she’s fairly skilled as well.

Steve gets out of the car and meets her with a smile. He seems to know this woman well – his body language much less awkward than it would be with a stranger – but you can’t hear what they’re saying and the angle isn’t right for you to read their lips.

“Can you move your seat up?” you ask Sam, trying to see a little better as the woman opens up her trunk. But Sam is definitely angry about you punching him again because he refuses flatly and you honestly don’t have the energy to have this argument.

Instead, you scoot to the left as Steve and his contact keep on talking. You still can’t see his face but her expression has definitely turned flirty and when you see Steve lean down to kiss her, something in you breaks. You should’ve known you couldn’t trust your memories; whatever you thought you saw this morning, whatever you thought you knew about the sound that Steve makes when you kiss him, clearly you were wrong.

But the blond is still your friend and you dredge a smile up from somewhere when he glances back at you. If this woman makes Steve happy then you'll give him what he needs.

However, you're still relieved that she doesn't stay much longer and it's straight down to business after she drives off. You spend a couple minutes sorting through your gear, mostly so it fits in your stupid tiny trunk and then the three of you climb back into the car. Steve drives you to Leipzig airport while Sam talks to someone named Clint on another burner phone, apparently he’s bringing backup and he’s supposed to meet you there.

You hang back for the introductions, studying your reinforcements as Steve greets them one by one. The other man seems pleased to see them, but you’re not all that impressed. These are the people that you’re taking into battle? An archer, a fanboy, and a kid? Sure they may have hidden talents – you think you remember something about a girl with crazy powers – but that doesn’t mean they’re ready to take on Hydra’s best. Even you’re not ready and these people would be better off if they just split right now.

“We should get moving,” you say instead. Knowing Steve, these folks are just as stubborn and you don’t have time to convince them that they’re crazy. They probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

“Dies ist eine Notsituation. Alle Passagiere müssen den Flughafen sofort evakuieren,” a nearby speaker crackles suddenly.

“They’re evacuating the airport,” you translate for the ones who don’t speak German. You don’t need to translate what that means.

“Stark,” Sam announces flatly before Steve tells his allies to suit up. The Avengers found you somehow and any chance of leaving this country peacefully just went out the window. While Stark and his friends would probably accept Captain America’s surrender, the stubborn jut of the blond's jaw tells you that he won’t be giving in.

So you pull on your gear quickly and you feel a little better once you’re wearing combat threads. Although you don’t have any weapons, you don’t intend to shoot at the Avengers and it’s not as though you need a rifle to do damage anyway. Other than the lack of knives, these clothes are fairly close to your old outfit and while the Winter Soldier was a dick, he made homicidal paranoia both practical and pretty – at least he would have if he’d ever washed his hair. You like to think you look a little better now and hey, these pants are tight enough to cover your reaction to Stevie stripping down.

All that naked skin simply isn’t fair. The blond is much too tempting and when you look away, you just get an eyeful of Sam’s ass. It’s a nice one, actually. If you weren’t pining over Steve and he didn’t kind of hate you, you might have given it a shot.

As it is, you plant your eyes on the ground until everyone has finished, though seeing Steve back in his uniform doesn’t help your issue none.

“You know, they probably brought the Quinjet,” Clint muses as he settles his quiver on his shoulders and you recognize the spark that lights up your captain’s eyes. That’s his crazy-fucking-plan spark and you can guess what he’s going to say before he opens up his mouth.

“If they brought the Quinjet, we should steal it,” Steve announces as you think, _Yup, I knew it_. “That jet is our best chance at getting out of here.”

“You really think that they'll just let me stroll on board?” you ask.

“Of course not, you’ll need a distraction,” the blond replies before switching to full on strategizing and as much as you remember hating Captain America sometimes, you do love to watch him in his element. The way the other man takes charge is damn attractive and even though you know he’ll never want you, you’re grateful for the chance to drink him in. If this thing goes south, you might not get another and then you’ll need good memories to keep you company.

Steve divides you into teams before Clint hands out some earpieces and you really want to argue with his choice. You’ve nothing against Sam, not anymore, but when your captain is walking into battle, you should be standing at his side. However, Steve's reasoning is sound and despite what you’ve remembered, you’re not prepared to question orders now.

“Don’t be stupid,” you say instead and your heart only stutters slightly at the smile you receive.

“Same to you, buddy,” the blond tells you and you give him a quick nod before heading off with Sam. It’s your job to find the Quinjet while your captain distracts his former teammates and the sooner you complete that mission, the sooner you can return to your proper place again.

For now, you follow Flyboy as he sneaks into the terminal. The building echoes strangely without any other people – as much as you can’t deal with normal airports, this emptiness is worse. So you’re grateful for the distraction when Sam pulls out a little robot and sends it winging off to search. You tell Steve you’re in position, keeping one eye on Flyboy and one eye on your captain as he runs into view.

Just as you expected, the Avengers don’t let Steve near the chopper and though you can’t hear what they’re saying, you think that you can guess. So you listen with half an ear while Steve tries to defend you, the other half focused on Clint’s running commentary. You kind of hate to admit it, but the archer’s monologue is helpful; you spent so much time hiding from Steve that you don’t actually recognize most of his teammates’ outfits and given the Avengers’ strange abilities, it’s probably a good idea to mark out who is who. You do, however, draw the line at remembering their stupid codenames: Stark, Romanova, that metal guy and Catman are good enough for you.

The first three were expected and the fourth does not surprise you – if anyone could get permission to outright murder you, it would probably be a king. But when someone new flips into action, you mutter a curse under your breath.

Although you still have the advantage of numbers for now, you haven’t seen the Avengers’ special android and Clint doesn’t seem to recognize the new guy. To be honest, you're not sure it is a guy – your view is blocked in that direction and all you saw was a blur of motion as someone stole Steve’s shield out of his hands. Someone with completely unknown abilities and you need an exit pronto before this whole plan goes FUBAR. With your luck, the UN will get impatient and just bomb you all to smithereens.

So you crouch down by Sam, hoping that his little robot will have some good news soon. You know your hovering isn’t helpful – even if he hadn’t let out the biggest sigh you’ve ever heard when you looked over his shoulder, you can’t make his tech move faster through sheer force of will. But hey, you can’t make it slower either and even you recognize the image of an airplane when the device in his hand beeps.

“We found it. The Quinjet's in hangar five, north runway,” Sam tells the others on his earpiece and then things get interesting.

The second half of Steve’s plan is really kind of awful. The whole thing boils down to having you and Flyboy run like hell while the rest of your team holds off the Avengers by themselves. You can hear fighting through your earpiece as you and Sam sprint toward the hangar but you can’t tell which side is winning through the noise.

All you hear are snarky comments intermixed with loud explosions and when a flash of red and blue suddenly swings through the rafters, you know you’ve got a problem on your hands.

“What the hell is that?” you ask Sam, trying to watch the new arrival and your feet at the same time.

“Everyone's got a gimmick now” he grumbles, which is _not a goddamn answer_ , before the crimson blur swings down on some kind of webbing and kicks him into the wall.

Whoever this person is, they’re clearly not a friendly and you spin around and throw a punch with your left arm. You’re not expecting to lay them out, you’re just trying to buy some time for Flyboy to recover, but you’re still shocked when the new arrival catches your fist easily.

“You have a metal arm?” he says. “That is _awesome_ dude!”

It’s a fucking teenager. Your opponent sounds about twelve and you honestly can't believe that this fiasco is your life. You're not here to hurt _children_. Sure he caught your metal arm but strength alone doesn't make a fighter and if you were still the Winter Soldier, you'd gut this kid just like a fish before he even blinked.

 _What the fuck are the Avengers thinking?_ you wonder, staring at the boy in shock. You stand there gaping until Sam snaps out his wings and swoops in from the side. He pulls Spiderboy into the air and you can actually hear that dumbass kid trying to read him his rights as they struggle for control.

You don’t have wings yourself so you duck behind cover before throwing part of a food stand toward the pair. You’re hoping to distract the kid so that Sam can take him out non-lethally, but he grabs the panel with another piece of webbing and throws it back at you. Although you aimed your shot off to the side, Spiderboy seems to have no problems with attempted murder. In fact, he seems to be aiming for decapitation – or is just too young and dumb to realize what’s he’s doing – and you’re forced to duck behind the pillar or take a panel to the face.

When you look again, Sam and the kid are halfway down the terminal and you really hope that the rest of your team is faring better. You’ve lost track of their locations but no one has called for help yet; all you hear is witty banter when you stop and listen in.

Seriously, is that the first lesson of being a proper superhero? How to talk your enemies to death in the midst of punching them?

You pick up speed when Spiderboy manages to short out Sam’s wings somehow and Flyboy goes crashing to the floor. The kid pins his arms to the railing with another shot of webbing and you can’t help a chuckle when the other man asks, “Is this stuff coming out of you?”

It seems like a valid question and rather plausible; you’ve seen some strange shit since World War II. However, if Spiderboy replies, you can’t hear the answer.

You do hear Sam say, “I don’t know if you’ve been in a fight before, but there usually isn't this much talking,” with clear exasperation and your opinion of the other man ratchets up a notch. At least one other person recognizes the sheer absurdity.

“I'm sorry. My bad,” the kid answers. You put on another burst of speed as he swings down to kick Sam, throwing yourself in front to block the blow. Probably not your best plan since Spiderboy just sends both you and Sam crashing down to the next level. The landing only winds you for an instant but that’s enough to give the kid his moment and you grit your teeth when another blast of webbing sticks your left arm to the floor.

“Guys, look, I'd love to keep this up,” Spiderboy says and you think he might be serious. “But I've only got one job here today and I gotta impress Mr. Stark.”

The idiot actually apologizes as he gets ready to attack you. He seems genuinely sorry about everything and that just makes this more surreal. The whole encounter seems like a strange hallucination – it wouldn’t be the first time that you’d lost touch with reality – but none of your hallucinations have ever been this weird. Which means this must be real. You’re going to get recaptured by some kind of teenage spider-boy and you struggle with the webbing desperately. However, whatever this stuff is made of, it does not break easily.

You can’t escape your fate, not on your own. But when the kid fires off his webbing, Sam’s tiny robot suddenly darts in front of you. It tangles in the webs and just keeps going, pulling Spiderboy through one of the terminal’s large windows before the kid can even blink.

For a second you just stare at the space where he’d been standing, your brain struggling to comprehend the sudden lack of danger through your fear.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?”

“I hate you,” Sam replies and you take that as confirmation that Flyboy is all right.

He’s okay. You’re okay. No one is going back to prison and you allow yourself one second just to breathe before you scrape off the webbing and rise back to your feet.

“Come on, then. We need to get the Quinjet.”

Thankfully, you and Sam manage to reach the tarmac without any further incidents – no more annoying teenagers popping from the sky. The rest of your teammates join you as you run toward the hangar and you’re relieved to know that they're all right. A little scuffed up maybe and you can tell that Steve met Catman; there are scratches on his shield that will probably not buff out. But you don’t see any blood or major injuries and when the Quinjet comes into view, you dare to hope that you might reach your target free and clear.

However, the Avengers weren’t dumb enough to leave their plane unguarded and you stumble to a halt as a beam of yellow energy carves a burning line in front of Steve. You glance up to see the Avengers’ missing android floating to the ground – “Vision,” Clint mutters quietly – and you know that your escape just went FUBAR after all.

Vision orders you to surrender as his allies come to join him. Stark, the metal sidekick, Catman, Romanova, and even Spiderboy line up to block your path and the only way to reach the Quinjet now is to punch straight through them all. But neither side moves, both groups waiting for the other to draw first just like in those old westerns that your captain used to love

“What do we do, Cap?” Sam asks, eyeing his former teammates warily. You can’t blame him for being uncomfortable. Moving from skirmishes to open conflict will be a betrayal on both sides and if anything, his unease just proves his loyalty.

But Steve doesn’t even hesitate before he says, “We fight,” and whatever else his friends are feeling, you know they'll follow him.

Indeed, when the blond starts jogging forward, your allies fall in behind him. Soon you’re sprinting toward your opponents as the Avengers charge to meet you and the two lines crash together like waves upon the shore.

You chose Catman as your target – or maybe he chose you – and you’re getting really sick of being tackled to the ground. You barely dodge a punch that leaves dents in the tarmac before you manage to shove him off and jump back to your feet. You can already tell that this encounter will be more brutal than the last one – Spiderboy was strong but he didn’t have the bloodlust – and you’re honestly not certain if you can win this fight.

Although you give it your best shot, your opponent flows around your punches and then hits you like a freight train. You’re vaguely aware of your teammates fighting all around you but you can’t afford to focus on anything but Catman if you want to stay alive.

Punch. Kick. Dodge. Whirl. Strike. Block. Wince. Kick. Punch.

You duck under your opponent’s next strike and grab him by the throat with your left arm. The plates shift audibly as he returns the favor, his fingers digging hard into your skin.

“I didn't kill your father,” you tell him. You don't expect him to believe you but just this once, you'd like to say the truth out loud.

“Then why did you run?” he snarls back and all you want to ask is, “You mean the time when you were trying to kill me or the time when I was brainwashed?” But before you can retort, Catman breaks your grip and then kicks you in the face.

You hit a pile of crates with a groan as he draws his claws again. The other man goes straight for your throat and you know that you won’t manage to block his strike in time. But then a strange red energy wraps around his fist and when you look for the source, you see Wanda standing there.

When she smacks her hands together, Catman goes flying through the air and you mutter a quick thanks as you look around for Steve. You can hear your captain having some sort of philosophical discussion through your earpiece – apparently the Avengers have given him bad habits – and this is so not the time.

You finally spy Steve taking cover by an airplane and you dash over there to join him, reminding the other man that your real target is probably in Siberia by now.

“We gotta draw out the fliers,” he replies. “I’ll take Vision. You get to the jet.”

You open your mouth to protest for two important reasons. First, why the hell is Steve so damn self- sacrificing? And second, you don’t actually know how to fly an airplane, let alone the Quinjet. Hydra wasn’t big on giving its brainwashed pet assassin lessons in mobility. However, before you can say anything, Flyboy gets there first.

“No, you get to the jet! Both of you!” he orders. “The rest of us aren’t getting out of here.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, if we're going to win this one, some of us might have to lose it,” Clint chimes in from across the battlefield, an edge to his voice that you haven’t heard before.

“This isn't the real fight, Steve,” Sam continues and you know your captain wants to argue. You can see it on his face. The other man has never been comfortable sacrificing his allies for a mission – that’s one of the reasons he was such a damn good captain to serve under – but when he looks at you again, something shifts behind his eyes.

“All right, Sam. What's the play?”

“We need a diversion. Something big.”

“I've got something kind of big,” another voice else chimes in. Scott, you think, the one who can turn tiny. “But I can't hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half... don't come back for me.”

“He’s gonna tear himself in half?” you mutter, glancing at Steve in alarm. That’s what you say but what you mean is, “Please don't let your teammates die for me.”

You think Steve hears you, really hears you, but his gaze is steady and his voice doesn’t waver when he asks, “You sure about this, Scott?”

“I do it all the time,” the other man reassures him. “I mean, once, in a lab. Then I passed out.”

That’s not exactly comforting. However, Scott seems to be going for it and you have no way to stop him. All you can do is listen as he mutters to himself and you think he’s saying, “I’m the boss, I’m the boss,” repeatedly.

There’s one beat of silence, long enough for you to worry that he really split himself in two. And then suddenly there's a giant where the other man had been.

“I guess that's the signal,” Steve says with some bemusement while you just stand there gaping. But the blond did spend a couple years fighting with a big green rage machine so maybe he’s more used to his teammates changing size on him.

You still don’t like this plan; you don’t want to leave your captain’s friends to fight the rearguard. But they made their choices freely and you can’t waste their sacrifice.

So you follow Steve toward the Quinjet while Scott unleashes hell, the Avengers circling around him as your allies band together to cover your escape. You're almost to the hangar when another beam from Vision shoots straight past your shoulder. It slices through a nearby tower and you can’t even imagine the property damage that this fight of yours has caused. The tower starts to crumble, debris raining down to block the hangar’s entrance. You think that’s it, you’re done, but then a shield of Wanda’s magic shimmers into view. She gives everything she has to hold your exit clear and though her power quickly falters, she buys you the seconds that you need.

Romanova is waiting in the hangar.

At this point, you can’t even be surprised. You have a feeling that the Winter Soldier knew her, has fought her more than once, and the fact that she survived it tells you everything you need.

The woman looks at Steve and her words are not a question. “You’re not going to stop.”

“You know I can't,” he tells her.

“I'm gonna regret this,” she replies, holding out her arm. You brace for an attack, already planning the best way to get around her without bloodshed, but Romanova’s shot flies past your head. When you turn around to look, you see Catman coming up behind you and there’s a crackle of lightning as her weapon slams into his chest.

“Go,” she orders and Steve doesn’t hesitate. You follow him inside the Quinjet while Romanova keeps on firing. The woman doesn’t miss, not once, but Catman is damn persistent; even her fancy weapon barely seems to slow him down.

You can see them still facing off through the window as Steve prepares the jet to fly. At least, you assume that’s what he’s doing when he flicks a bunch of switches and you hear the plane start up. To be honest, you were half expecting the Avengers to have locked out his controls – they think the man went traitor after all. But whether it was laziness or optimism, it’s the break you needed and you buckle yourself in as the other man uses the Quinjet’s guns to clear the hangar door. Then he tells you to hold on and sends the plane into the air.

You watch Steve’s hands on the controls, memorizing every motion just in case. If this trip of yours goes wrong, your ability to fly this thing might be the difference between death and survival and you would never forgive yourself for failing to save your captain’s life.

Of course, first you have to escape from the Avengers and it seems really unfair that so many of your opponents have the ability to fly. You can hear Sam shouting about bogeys through your earpiece but you have no way to help him. Steve just keeps pushing the plane faster while you sit there uselessly and you’re honestly half-expecting Stark or his metal friend to burst straight through the wall.

But it never happens. The Quinjet just keeps climbing until Sam's voice fades from your earpiece and the plane flies out of range.

You’re left with silence, guilt, and worry about the ones you left behind. You didn’t know Steve’s allies well, some of them you’d tried to murder, and yet they all came running when he asked. They fought for Steve but you’re the reason and now they’ll take your punishment.

“What's gonna happen to your friends?” you ask Steve quietly.

“Whatever it is... I'll deal with it,” the other man replies and you wish you could believe him. You wish you could believe that his friends will be all right. But you’re pretty sure that this is going to end bad for everyone. Bad and bloody and a flash of shame cuts through you at the thought.

“I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve.”

“What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice.”

“I know... but I did it,” you tell him. You may not remember everything – you’re not sure you really want to when the fragments still drown your dreams in blood. But you can’t deny that you were the Winter Soldier. Puppet or not, you’re the one who pulled the trigger and you don’t think you’ll ever forgive yourself for breaking when you could have died instead.

“And I’m sorry that you had to, Buck. I really am,” the blond apologizes, every word still ringing wrong. “But you gotta believe that I am _never_ giving up on you. Even if you had joined Hydra willingly, I would still be in your corner. I would have come to save you anyway.”

“You can’t mean that. You shouldn’t mean that,” you reply. “When will you realize that some people just aren’t worth it?”

“Maybe not, but you are,” Steve says stubbornly. The other man presses a few buttons on the console and then turns around to face you. He stands up and grabs your hands, holding on tighter when you try to pull the metal one away.

“Listen to me, Bucky. I know you were the Winter Soldier and I don’t care. I’ve read your file – I read everything that I could get my hands on – and as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t change a thing,” he tells you earnestly. “You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known and I will always have your back. Until the end of the line, remember? I love you, Buck. I did then and I do now and if you’ll only let me, I will give you everything.”

“But what about the woman?” you ask blankly, unable to believe that this might be happening.

“What woman?” Steve replies. “You mean Sharon?”

He sounds confused, like he doesn’t understand the reason for your question, and with a burst of irritation, you yank your hands away.

“I don’t know, is she the dame you kissed this morning?” you snarl. “Seriously, Steve, when did you turn into an asshole? Should I expect the same damn treatment or is it only women that you forget about that fast?”

“No, Bucky, it’s not… I remember Sharon, I just…” he stammers awkwardly. “I felt like I owed her and she wanted me to kiss her so I did. I mean… I do like Sharon and if you hadn’t come back, maybe we could’ve had something. But Bucky, you did come back and whatever happens, I will always love you more.”

Steve looks so damn serious. Earnest and uncertain, as though he doesn’t realize that he’s got your heart clutched in his hands. The other man could break you. If this goes wrong or he doesn’t really mean it – if you’re imagining this entire conversation – you don’t think that you’d survive. But maybe Steve does mean it. Maybe your splintered memories weren’t fantasies at all.

“I don’t want to be a secret,” you say, the words just slipping out. “Not like we were before. Peggy was Peggy, I get that, but it’s not illegal anymore.”

“You remember?” Steve asks, his whole face brightening. “You remember us?”

“Not everything,” you tell him. “I’ve dreamed of bits and pieces, of kissing you in Brooklyn and stolen moments in the war. I remember loving you and wanting you and I still feel just the same. But my brain is a mess, Stevie. How could I be certain that anything was real?”

“It is, Buck, I promise. You were my first love, you know. My only love for years.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” you whisper. “I might have… I might have stopped running earlier.”

“I didn’t want you to think that you were obligated,” the other man responds. “I love you and I miss you, Bucky, but I’m not here on that condition and I figured you’d had enough of people planning out your life. Besides, I wasn’t sure you’d want to know. You kept shoving me at Peggy right before I lost you. Sure she was amazing, but I only would have married her because I couldn’t marry you. If you really loved me, why’d you try so hard to let me go?”

“Because I was a mess!” you groan. _Who the hell gets cock-blocked by their own past self?_ “Peggy was gorgeous and competent and she liked you! You could take her out without getting court-martialed, have a family and a future. Why would I deny you your best chance at happiness? Why would I deny you the chance for better now?”

“You’re such an idiot,” Steve says, the words an even mix of fondness and exasperation. “I tried to move on when I woke up in the future, Buck. Peggy was old and you were dead and I knew that you’d both kick my ass if I spent my whole life pining. But the instant that I saw you, I was right back there in Brooklyn. Sixteen and so in love that I was stupid with it. I didn’t care that it was illegal or a sin, I just wanted to see your dumb mug smile and if this whole mess has proved anything, it’s that I’m still not over you.”

“Steve…”

What can you possibly say to such a declaration? What can you do but kiss him like you’ve been wanting to?

So you scrabble at your seat belt until you can do just that, claiming his mouth and chasing the taste of his surprise. It’s been a long time since you’ve kissed him, a long time since you’ve kissed anyone, but it feels completely natural. There’s no awkward hesitation or fumbling for position. You just wrap your arms around Steve to pull him closer and you smile against his lips when you feel him do the same.

The other man kisses you back fiercely and you meet him touch for touch, losing yourself in heat and memory. Because this is so familiar: the careful way he holds you and the warmth of skin on skin, the sweetness of his mouth and the way he moans out loud when you trace his bottom lip.

“Fuck, Steve,” you groan when you finally break for air. “Tell me this plane has some kind of autopilot and we’re not about to crash.”

“Of course it does, Bucky,” Steve replies with a smile that makes your knees go weak. He’s always had pretty eyes, such brilliant blue with flecks of green, and right now they’re shining brighter than any stars you’ve ever seen. “But even if it didn’t, I think that I’d still kiss you. I really can’t imagine a better way to go.”

“You’re such a sap,” you murmur, your chest light with happiness.

“You make me one,” he answers, utterly sincere. Steve tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ears and you feel your cheeks get hot. You can’t remember the last time that you blushed but there’s something both sweet and overwhelming about his aching tenderness.

“Now, I’d love to pull out a bed and show you just how much I’ve missed you,” Steve continues. “But we don’t have to do that. The choice is up to you.”

“Are you kidding, pal? Get on with the ravishing,” you order and you’re rewarded with his laugh.

“All right, then,” the blond says. He takes your hand and leads you to the back of the plane. There’s a little alcove here with what looks like med supplies, though you don’t see a bed in sight. You’re prepared to make do with benches if you have to – for Steve you’d use the floor – but the other man hits another button and a panel opens in the wall.

Steve pulls out a small bed, complete with sheets and pillows, before turning back to you. “I know I promised you the Ritz back in the old days, but this will have to do.”

“This is perfect,” you reply. You kiss him again, one hand curled around his neck and the other on his hip. Soft and sweet at first but quickly growing heated as you delve between his lips.

Steve responds beautifully, giving a low moan and pressing into you. His mouth is hot and searching, fingers gentle in your hair. You lean into his touch as your own hands grow bolder, the right sweeping down across his shoulders while the other cups his ass. You never thought you'd be grateful for the sensors that Hydra built into your arm, their only goal to make a better weapon. But Steve is warm beneath your metal fingers, firm and perfect when you give a gentle squeeze.

You swallow his moan and pull him even closer, slotting your leg between his thighs. Steve scrabbles at your jacket as he ruts against you, searching for skin blindly with his hands.

“Where the hell is the damn zipper?” he groans, tugging at your belt. “I want to feel you, Bucky.”

That sounds darn good to you so you nudge him backward, creating just enough space between you to start stripping off your gear. However, you can't bring yourself to stop touching him completely. You pepper Steve with kisses, teasing his lips, his neck, his shoulder, even as you toss your clothes onto the floor. Soon you're standing mostly naked, the air cool against your skin, and you can't even feel self-conscious about the scarring on your arm. Not when the love of your life is looking at you hungrily, his eyes dark with desire as he strips off his uniform.

Honestly, you don't think you've ever seen Steve get undressed that quickly and damn but the man's a gorgeous sight. So you pause to drink him in, your eyes traveling over those wide shoulders and down to his slim hips, stroking the toned muscles that stretch on for miles and across his perfect cock.

Of course, you also thought that Steve was beautiful when he was still frail and sickly, his body never big enough to contain his stubborn heart. You loved him then and you love him now and you don’t know how you got so lucky as to have this second chance.

You wish you had the freedom to do this properly. You wish you could explore his skin for hours, kiss and suck and grind together until you'd rediscovered every spot that made him scream. You want to worship him slowly, show your adoration with every word and touch as you work him open on your fingers and make him writhe against the bed. You want to watch him fall apart with pleasure before sinking deep inside him and you’re pretty sure Steve feels the same.

But you don’t have that kind of time. You only have this stolen moment so you pull the blond back into your arms with an edge of desperation and Steve seems to share your urgency. His cock is hard against your hip and he clutches at you tightly as you tumble down onto the bed.

It really isn’t built for this. Your elbow knocks against the wall hard enough to dent it and you’re pretty sure Steve’s legs are dragging on the floor. But that hardly matters when he wraps his thighs around you and pulls you down on top of him. You watch his face as you roll your hips together, mesmerized by the way his eyelids flutter and his lips part on a moan.

You remember this. You remember the feel of Steve beneath you, the way he comes alive when in your arms. Somehow that hasn’t changed even though the world has changed around you; somehow you made it here again through war and loss and pain.

Steve surges up and kisses you as though he can see just what you’re thinking – maybe he can or maybe he’s simply feeling much the same. Because he claims your mouth as though he wants to brand himself inside you and you’re helpless to resist. Instead you respond in kind, losing yourself in warmth and need and love.

“Wish I could feel you, Bucky,” Steve gasps against your lips. “Wish I could ride you like I used to. I missed you so fucking much.”

“Next time,” you promise. “When we’ve made it somewhere warmer and we have the right supplies. Otherwise I’ll hurt you and I won’t… I couldn’t bear that, not again.”

“It’d be worth it,” he replies. But Steve doesn’t push the issue. He just slides one hand down in-between you and it’s your turn to groan when he wraps his fingers round your length. You bury your face in Steve’s neck to muffle the sounds that he pulls from you, his hand stroking you with an easy confidence.

You won’t last long at this rate – you’re too keyed up – and you want to see Steve fall before you do. So you push yourself up slightly, just enough to touch him the way he’s touching you. The other man’s cock is hot against your palm and he shudders when you stroke him, a full body ripple that pulls you close again.

You push into his touch as your own rhythm stutters. You hear Steve chuckle faintly, his breath warm against your ear, and you turn to catch his eye. The blond is grinning at you, bright and blinding, but you also see a hint of challenge when he twists his wrist again.

“Oh, it’s like that, punk?” you murmur. You were never one to back down any more than Steve was, it used to get you into trouble, and you’re not going to let him win this easily. So you meet him stroke for stroke, your whole body growing warmer at the pleasure in his eyes. It takes you both a moment to find a working rhythm but soon you’re racing toward completion, trying to make the other man fall before you do.

Your world narrows to the wet slide of skin on skin, heated moans and gasped desires as you burn together. You soar higher and higher, Steve’s name a whisper on your tongue and his mouth sweet against your lips. You know he’s close when his breath catches so you stroke a little faster, guided as much by instinct as by muscle memory.

“Bucky!” Steve cries out. His body snaps taut, head thrown back against the pillow and the long line of his neck just begging to be kissed as he spills into your hand. The blond comes undone beneath you, the sight and feel and sound of him breaking your control. So you grind your cock against his hip one last time, his fingers loose around you, and let a wave of pleasure pull you down.

Neither of you stir for a long moment. You’re content to lie on top of Steve and he doesn’t seem to mind it, though you know you weigh a ton. You lean into his touch as he strokes his fingers through your hair, humming a soft tune contentedly. But if you’re gonna to fall asleep here – and that seems rather likely – you need to make sure that Steve is comfortable.

“Come on, pal,” you tell him. “You’re gonna wake up hurting if we stay like this too long.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” he murmurs, looking back at you.

“Maybe, but your back will. I know that I’m not light.”

You push yourself up and the other man releases you a bit reluctantly. You wipe your hand off on the mattress before rolling to your feet so Steve can move. He turns onto his side and scoots back against the wall, making room for you to lie down next to him. It’s a tight fit on the bed but you don’t mind the closeness. You think you used to share like this back in the twenties, long before you went to war.

In those days Steve was smaller. You have a vague memory of tucking him beneath your chin when the nights grew cold but that’s no longer possible. Instead, the blond wraps his arms around you, his breath warm against your neck as you shift into position. Sleeping on your right side is easier – your robot arm makes for a really crappy pillow – and you curl your left arm up near your head before you relax into Steve’s chest.

You drift off quickly in his arms and for once you do not dream. He’s still asleep when you wake up a couple hours later and you know that you should rouse him. You’re probably getting close to Siberia by now.

But you can’t bring yourself to break the moment. You’re warm and cozy for the first time in a long time and the outside world can’t touch you in the circle of Steve’s arms. Here you’re safe. Here your past is not important and your demons have stopped howling. But you know this peace won’t last. Hydra’s base is waiting and as soon as you get up, you’ll have to face reality.

So you roll over to look at Steve instead. You stroke your eyes across his cheekbones and fight back a smile at the bird’s nest of his hair. He looks younger with his stubborn jaw relaxed in sleep and his face mushed into the bed. He looks adorable and edible and you want to remember this no matter what. You want to etch this memory so deep that no one can ever take it from you the way they did before. You know you’ll probably lose him despite his promises, but at least you’ll still have this when the world grows cold again.

“Bucky,” he murmurs softly, shifting in his sleep. Your name sounds like something special when he says it, something treasured, and you can’t resist the urge to kiss him anymore.

His mouth is slack at first, soft and unresponsive, but you can feel the moment he wakes up. Steve leans into your touch and the once-chaste kiss turns scorching. You can feel his hand clench in your hair as he maps your mouth out thoroughly. Even the fact that you probably taste awful doesn’t slow him down and you only pull away again because you have to breathe.

“Hey, pal,” you murmur and you know you’re smiling.

“You’re really here,” Steve whispers, looking back at you. His voice is soft with wonder and you feel your heart throb when he adds, “I was afraid that I was dreaming. I used to dream about you all the time but you were never there when I woke up.”

“I dreamed about you too, Stevie. But this is real,” you promise. “I’m really here this time.”

“I know, Buck. I could always tell the difference; I just kept hoping anyway,” Steve admits before his grin turns impish. “Besides, this couldn’t be a dream. In my dreams you cut your hair.”

“You don’t like it?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. While you were on the run, the longer hair was useful and there’s no one else you would have trusted to cut it anyway. But the old Bucky Barnes was always a good dresser – you’ve seen the pictures, he looked sharp – and you don’t want Steve to be disappointed by the version he has now.

“Hey, now, none of that,” he chides you gently, reading the emotions off your face. “I was only teasing, pal. I think you look amazing. Short hair or long hair, I’ll always want you anyway.”

“I didn’t mean to doubt you,” you mumble, hating yourself for ruining the mood. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Steve tells you and he seems to mean that too. “It’s easy to fall back into old rhythms but we’re both different people and I shouldn’t have assumed that I could rib you like I used to. Not till we find our feet again.”

“No, I want you to,” you protest. “I’m just… out of practice. So try and make it obvious?”

“All right, Buck. If that’s what you want,” he readily agrees. “I’ll do finger quotes and everything.”

“What the heck are finger quotes?”

“A punk like you should know,” Steve replies with exaggerated hand gestures and you can’t help a startled laugh. Being with the blond has been a roller coaster of emotions, from highs to lows and back again, and to be honest, you’re a bit exhausted by the change. But given the choice between this and going back to your gray limbo, you’d pick Steve every time.

Sure you still feel a bit uncertain but you’re comforted by his willingness to work around your issues. You want to have the friendship you remember – to be secure enough in Steve that you can tease each other freely – and you think you’re almost there. Because you know what the other man means about old rhythms and you’ve enjoyed your banter for the most part. It makes you feel like a real person instead of a machine.

So instead of dwelling on the doubts, you ask with raised eyebrows, “Where did you learn that?”

“YouTube, of course,” Steve tells you with a grin. “You can find everything on YouTube. Seriously, Buck, _everything_. After that whole mess in New York, SHIELD wanted me more familiar with pop culture and I’d often visit YouTube on the nights I couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s the one with all the videos, right?” you murmur, caught on the edge of memory. “I think I ended up there when I was looking into you. But reading the comments made me angry so I had to quit again.”

“Yeah, you should never read the comments,” the other man says. “Natasha taught me that.”

Steve’s expression flickers at the thought of his old teammate and you know he stills feel guilty about how this thing went down. But you can’t do anything to help his allies until you’ve finished in Siberia and there’s no point in brooding. Better to distract you both for now.

So you reach out to take Steve’s hand, interlacing your fingers and waiting until he looks back up at you. “Sounds like I need a better guide to this new century. You up for a crash course?”

“I’d be honored, Bucky,” he replies. “But it will take a while. I want to show you everything.”

“Sounds good to me,” you murmur. You lean in and kiss the promise off his lips, licking your way into his mouth when he gives a quiet moan. Although Steve tastes a little stale, you barely even notice. You’re too caught up in the heat of him and the way he moves against you, quiet moans filling your ears as you kiss him lazily.

You’re hard again but you feel no urgent need to come. You’re content with this, to feel Steve’s touch against your skin and trace your tongue over his lips. You want to enjoy the moment, not dash off toward completion; you want a thousand lazy mornings to spend in bed like this.

Your desire builds slowly, a coil of pleasure deep within you as Steve strokes across your back. You let your own hands wander and you’re still amazed he doesn’t flinch when metal touches skin.

Steve only pulls you closer, deepening your kisses as his right hand tangles in your hair again. He’s so warm, always has been since the serum, and when you melt against him, the ice seems far away. You kiss and kiss, desperate just to feel him until your release sneaks up on you. The other man follows moments later and you both just lie there breathing, enjoying the closeness and the quiet afterglow.

“As much as I do like your hair, you could really use a shower,” Steve says eventually, tugging on the lock of hair that’s fallen across your face. He says the words carefully, softening the judgment with a smile, and this time you hear the fondness in his tone.

So instead of wincing, you just snort, “You’re not too fresh yourself, Stevie,” and you’re rewarded with another beaming grin.

“There we go, pal,” Steve replies, tugging on your hair again. “It’s not too hard to tease me after all.”

Before you can speak the rejoinder that’s dancing on your tongue, a loud beeping fills the Quinjet. You snap to your feet immediately, every muscle tense and wary as you look around for enemies. But the beeping just continues and after a moment, you turn back to the blond.

“What is that? It sounds important.”

“We must be getting close,” Steve tells you. “I set an alarm to go off thirty minutes before we reached the coordinates you gave me. I figured we’d need time to prepare and once we arrive, we’ll want to move immediately.”

The words hit you like a bucket of ice water. The reminder of your mission shatters the illusion of safety you’d created and the outside world comes crashing in again. So you don’t follow Steve as he walks over to the console bare-ass naked, your mind too full of Hydra to appreciate the view. Instead you start to clean yourself off as best you can, your tension barely easing when the blond hits a couple buttons and the beeping finally stops.

You really do need a shower. You’re covered in dirt, sweat and sex, the thought of putting on your days-old clothing making your skin crawl. But the Quinjet isn’t quite that fancy and a couple more damp cloths will have to do.

You and Steve dress quickly before he puts away the bed, wiping away the evidence of everything you shared. Soon Captain America and his sergeant are standing where Steve and Bucky were and you have a sinking feeling that the last few hours were really just a dream. The other man couldn’t really love you – you couldn’t be that lucky – and even the faint scent of sex on the air can’t quite chase your fears away.

But then Steve leans in to kiss you, his lips sweet and his fingers gentle on your neck. You stand there for a moment, just breathing in each other’s air, before the blond puts on his mission face again.

“Are you ready, Buck?” your captain asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” you say.

“Then let’s do this,” the other man replies. “The sooner we catch this guy, the sooner we can find a proper bed.”

The words are a hint of Steve beneath the captain’s mask and the sentiment is one that’s well worth fighting for. You still think that this will probably end badly. But at least you made new memories to take into this hellhole and there’s a light at the end of your dark tunnel if you manage to survive.

“I’m counting on it,” you tell him quite sincerely. “Now go and bring us in.”

You join Steve in the cockpit as he brings your plane in for the landing, still watching his hands just in case. You’d rather not crash the Quinjet if you ever have to do this and focusing on the blond stops you from thinking about the base beneath your feet.

However, nothing can stop the shudder that runs down your spine when the bunker comes into view, its entrance a dark maw in a sea of ice and snow. There’s a splash of color near the opening – the doctor’s vehicle – and Steve sets the Quinjet down nearby. It’s a reminder that this mission is probably suicide so you ask your captain about weapons. If you’re taking on a squad of Winter Soldiers, you’d really like to have a gun – it probably won’t help much, but it’ll make you happier.

The other man points you to Romanova’s weapon cache and you really have to admire the woman’s taste in firearms. You select your weapon quickly before moving toward the hatch. Steve joins you as the door begins to open, a blast of icy air hitting you in the face. You shiver again, from cold and nerves alike and you’re grateful for the distraction when your captain speaks.

“You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of a freezer truck?” the other man asks. To be honest, you don’t remember. Not at first. But the more you think about it, the more you feel as though you do.

“Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?” you reply, the faint hint of a smile in your voice.

“You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead,” Steve tells you and the words set off a flash of memory. No details, no name. Just a vision of the girl standing on a boardwalk, her smile bright and beautiful as she egged your efforts on. She was as vibrant as her hair and if you hadn’t been gone on Steve already, you probably could have loved her. You think you loved that girl a little anyway.

“What was her name again?” you ask, hoping Steve can fill the gaps still in your memory.

“Dolores. You called her Dot.”

You wonder where she ended up, if she’s even still alive. Everyone you knew back in the old days continued on without you – everyone but Steve – and you hope that she was happy. You hope that Dot managed to live out the adventures she was always dreaming of.

“She’s gotta be a hundred years old right now,” you murmur, wondering if she even remembers the boy she used to know.

“So are we, pal,” Steve says. He reaches out and rests his left hand on your shoulder, the touch support and comfort all in one. Your fellow keeps his hand there until the ramp stops moving and then the two of you walk out into the bitter cold.

The chill cuts to the bone even with your enhancements, an old familiar ache starting up in your left shoulder. Your scars have never liked the cold and most of the Winter Soldier’s memories are overlaid with pain. That was one of the worst parts of being frozen, the ice stabbing through your shoulder while your phantom limb screamed out in agony. But you’re used to pushing past your body’s limits and you won’t let a little pain distract you now.

“He can't have been here more than a few hours,” Steve says as you reach the bunker’s entrance.

“Long enough to wake them up.”

You know you need to find your target quickly. You should be racing through the door to chase him down. But you don’t want to be here and every instinct that you have is screaming to escape. You don't want Steve to be here; the best thing you've ever touched doesn’t belong inside your nightmares. He belongs somewhere warm, somewhere safe, not in this frozen hell.

But the other man barely hesitates before walking through the doorway and you can’t let him face this place alone. So you grit your teeth and follow, trying to ignore the ghosts that fill these empty halls. You can see their shadows everywhere, shades of scientists and doctors, armed guards and prisoners, and the bloody line of footprints where the Winter Soldier walked. Even without the doctor’s tracks, you would know where you were going anyway.

The elevator walls seem to close in as you and Steve ride down in silence. Every breath feels like gulping in ice water, the warmth quickly sucked out of your bones. Neither of you is exactly dressed for this sort of expedition – unless the other man's outfit has built in heaters that you don’t know about – and if not for the serum, you'd probably freeze before you ever reached your goal.

When the elevator stops, you and Steve walk toward the bottom level cautiously. You clear each room in turn, making sure there are no surprises that could come back to ambush you. You’re half-expecting to be jumped by another Winter Soldier but all you find is silence, the air heavy with the weight of age and the ghosts of memory. You remember more of this prison than you wish to, Hydra’s tortures burned into your nightmares just like all the blood you spilled.

For once, you're grateful for that knowledge. Steve would carry all your demons if you let him, but there are things he shouldn’t see. You know he’s strong enough to bear the weight and he’s probably read about them, but knowing and seeing are different things and you don’t want to cause him pain.

So you steer your fellow around the worst of it, letting him guard the hallways as you clear out torture chambers, prisons, and the room with that damn chair. The last one nearly breaks you. Your vision flickers for a moment and you can almost feel the shocks pouring through your body, burning out the memories one second at a time.

“Bucky?”

Your name brings you back to the present. You can feel your hands shaking as you turn around and you block Steve's view of the chamber with your body until you can close the door again.

“Nothing in there,” you tell him.

“You sure? You look a little pale.”

“Just a few bad memories,” you say with a weak smile. “I’ll feel better as soon as we get out of here. Can we just keep moving, please?”

“All right,” Steve agrees. He doesn’t ask you for more details, though he does glance back at the door when you start to walk away. “When this is over, we’ll destroy it. We’ll burn this whole place down.”

“That would be… good.”

You fall back into silence then. You don’t need words to work together even after all this time and you don’t want to break the quiet; it feels as though this place might shatter if you do.

You’re heading up another set of stairs when you hear a noise behind you, a brief clatter that’s almost deafening inside this silent tomb. You and Steve both spin around and fall back into position, your gun aimed over his shoulder as he guards you with his shield.

“You ready?” he murmurs quietly.

“Yeah,” you tell him, your finger waiting on the trigger for an enemy to show.

Neither of you move as the noise gets closer and you’re not sure whether you want to laugh or cry when you see Iron Man. Somehow Tony Stark caught up – one of the others must have told him where you and Steve were going and you really do hope that your allies are all right. The UN may claim that they don’t torture, but the sort of folks who send out hit squads aren’t the sort of folks you trust.

You also don’t trust Stark. You keep your weapon raised even as his lifts his face-plate and holds his hands out to the side. This is the first time you’ve actually seen his face up close and your training is the only thing that stops you from flinching. He looks too much like Howard; without the suit, you’re not sure you could have fought him earlier, not when a horde of memories are tearing at your mind. But you’ve lived with your guilt and pain for this long; you can last a little longer to make sure the world is safe.

After that… After that if you survive this, you should tell Steve what you’ve done. He may have read your file but that doesn’t mean he knows it all; you don’t see how he could and still love you like he does. So the truth will probably lose him. Steve will turn away from you and if you’re very lucky, he won’t turn you in as well. But at least you’ll have the memory of his kisses to hold on to and you can’t let him keep loving you with falsehood on your tongue.

But first you have to deal with Iron Man and you’re glad to see that Steve has kept his shield up too.

“You seem a bit defensive,” Stark says to start the conversation.

“It’s been a long day,” Steve retorts, not giving him an inch. Honestly, that’s an understatement if you’ve ever heard one – the past few days have lasted a damn eternity.

“At ease soldier, I’m not currently after you,” the other man continues and you’re honestly surprised that he deigned to talk to you. Maybe Stark is hoping that you’ll be more sympathetic – in which case, he’s an idiot – and you just stare at him stonily.

“Then why are you here?”

“Could be your story's not so crazy. Maybe,” he answers. “Ross has no idea that I'm here and I'd like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I gotta arrest myself.”

You used to be like that. Always joking, always finding humor in the worst parts of the world. At first because you meant it and then because the smiles helped to hide the cracks beneath. Laughter hid the fear and you’re pretty sure that Tony Stark is completely terrified.

But Steve relaxes slightly at the other man’s olive branch. He lowers his shield enough to make you nervous and you keep Stark in your sights as your captain says, “That sounds like a lot of paperwork. It's good to see you, Tony.”

“You too, Cap,” Iron Man replies before turning back to you again. “Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you're killing me here. There's a truce, you can drop...”

You tune out his words as he keeps talking, the white noise washing over you. Stark doesn't give you orders and you refuse to lower your weapon until you get Steve's nod. You still don’t trust Stark but you'll follow your captain's lead for now.

The three of you move deeper into the base and you grudgingly admit that the search goes faster with Iron Man involved. Stark lets his suit’s scanners do most of the work as he explains what he discovered about the doctor since you left.

“Your boy might have been framed after all,” the other man says and you feel a small flash of relief. You’d known that you weren’t in Vienna; you’d known it and yet you still weren’t sure. “Zemo, that’s the shrink, he had a rough disguise in his hotel room – enough to look like Barnes in front of shitty cameras. He definitely wanted Robocop over there brought in and he killed the real psychologist so that he could talk to him.”

“Why?” Steve asks. “Why go to all this trouble? What does he want?”

“I don’t know. But he’s from Sokovia so maybe he just hates us,” Stark replies. “Given what happened to his country, I’m not sure that I can blame him for wanting us to pay.”

You know about Sokovia. Even while in hiding, you couldn’t help listening for rumors about Steve and depending on who was talking, the Avengers had been saviors or destroyers, murderers or saints. You’d heard rumors about an evil robot, rumors that Tony Stark had built it, and given the guilt you hear in the man’s voice, maybe that was true. Maybe you aren’t the only one with a massive body count and that might explain his willingness to sign his life away.

“What happened to Sokovia was terrible but that doesn’t excuse what Zemo’s done,” your captain answers firmly. “The folks he killed to get here are on his hands alone.”

You’re not sure that you believe him but you can’t bring yourself to argue. Not when you want him to be right so desperately. The weight on your shoulders is heavy enough without adding Zemo to it and yet… you know you won't forgive yourself if the other Winter Soldiers are freed because of you.

You’re near the bottom now, where Hydra stored its monsters, and the silence seems more suffocating with every step you take. You should have been attacked already. Zemo shouldn’t have let you walk this deep into the building unmolested. Unless this is a trap and he doesn’t plan to let you walk back out again.

“I've got heat signatures,” Stark says as you enter the massive missile silo at the heart of Hydra’s base. At first glance, the chamber seems to be empty except for the faintly glowing cryo-tanks near the center of the room.

“How many?”

“Um, one,” the other man replies and your instincts start to scream. This is wrong. Everything about this situation is wrong and your nerves scream even louder when you realize that your fellow Soldiers have been killed right where they lay. A single headshot each.

“If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep,” Zemo’s voice crackles suddenly, piped through the speakers at the corners of the room. “Did you really think I wanted more of you?”

“What the hell?” you mutter as you look at the corpses. This makes no sense at all.

“I'm grateful to them, though,” the man continues. “They brought you here.”

A little square of light appears in the far wall of the silo, the window revealing Zemo’s face. Steve reacts instantly and his aim is right on target, but his shield bounces off the glass with a loud clang.

“Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blasts of UR-100 rockets,” the other man says calmly.

“I bet I could beat that,” Stark replies.

“I'm sure you could, Mr. Stark. Given time,” Zemo agrees. “But then you'd never know why you came.”

The man could be sitting down with friends for all the worry that he shows and his serenity puts you even more on edge. Any sane person would be scared of facing off with two Avengers and the Winter Soldier but you don't think he's crazy. A crazy man could not have manipulated events so skillfully, which means that somehow this must be part of Zemo’s plan.

“You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?” Steve asks in outrage. He stalks up to the window and glares at Zemo, but the other man doesn’t even flinch.

“I've thought about nothing else for over a year,” he murmurs. You can barely hear him – your focus on the silo – and you see Stark inching closer so that he can listen in. “I studied you, I followed you. But now that you're standing here, I've just realized... there's a bit of green in the blue of your eyes. How nice to find a flaw.”

Zemo chuckles quietly even as you growl behind your teeth. You’ve always thought Steve’s eyes were gorgeous and this man has no right to insult your fellow, no damn right at all.

“You're Sokovian,” Steve replies, letting Zemo’s insult roll right off of him. “Is that what this is about?”

“Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell,” the other man says, his lips twisting with a bitter amusement that you can’t help but recognize. “No. I'm here because I made a promise.”

“You lost someone?” your captain asks, one of those sudden jumps in logic that you never could explain. But you learned to trust his feelings and given Zemo’s expression, he’s right this time as well.

“I lost everyone,” the man says flatly. “And so will you.”

Zemo presses something on his side of the window and a nearby piece of machinery whirs to life. When you look closer you realize that it’s an old television – you’ve seen plenty in the future and Hydra used to make you watch clips of news sometimes.

“An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again,” Zemo pronounces as Steve and Stark glance at the screen. “But one that crumbles from within. That's dead, forever.”

You can’t see what’s playing from this angle but a shiver of unease crawls down your spine when Iron Man exclaims, “I know that road. What is this?”

They should turn the picture off. You should smash the screen and run with Steve right now. Because whatever Zemo wants to show him can’t be good, not when he killed and stole his way across half of Europe just to bring your captain here. This is what Zemo wants and it’s going to end badly, but the other men keep watching anyway.

Neither of them seems to remember that they’re standing in a Hydra base right now. Neither seems to remember that, _hello_ , this is probably a trap. So you keep your weapon up as you guard their sixes. Someone has to keep a lookout for this bastard’s backup plan.

Except there is no backup because Zemo doesn't need it. You may not be able to see the video, but you hear a faint voice say, “Help my wife,” and suddenly you know. Zemo didn’t care about the serum. He cared about the people the Winter Soldier killed to get it; that’s what he was looking for.

You’ve tried not to think about it. You know that you killed Howard; you’ve dreamed about that road, that murder half a dozen times and though you prayed it was a nightmare, you always knew it couldn’t be. But you’ve tried not to think about it. Some wounds still bleed too freely; some memories cut too deep and you couldn’t think about killing Howard while fighting with his son. Because no matter what Steve says about the Winter Soldier, you're the one who turned Tony Stark into an orphan and there’s no escaping that.

You watch the other man’s face as your past self kills his parents and you know by the rage and horror in his expression that Zemo’s plan has worked. For all his intelligence, Stark clearly had no idea and you will never be anything but the Winter Soldier in his mind after this.

Honestly, you’re not surprised when he starts toward you, his hands clenched into fists and fury in his eyes. You’re more surprised when Steve grabs his arm to stop him. If the blond was gonna leave you, now would be the perfect time.

And yet, when your captain glances at you, all you see is sorrow. There’s no shock or horror, none of the judgment you expected when you told him what you’d done. Steve said he read your file but you didn’t think….

“No, Tony,” the blond says quietly.

“Did you know?” Stark asks, rounding on his teammate.

“I didn't know it was him,” Steve replies. His voice is even, his gaze steady, and your heart stutters painfully with a mix of fear and hope. These words only confirm what you expected, what has to be the truth, and yet you know your captain well enough to know that Steve is lying. The other man knew that you killed Howard and his wife before Zemo played that video. So maybe he actually knows the worst and loves you anyway. Maybe he won’t leave you after all.

“Don't bullshit me, Rogers,” Stark snarls. “Did you _know_?”

“Yes,” Steve admits and moments later, Stark just goes berserk. His helmet snaps into place as he punches your captain to the ground and you don't have the chance to fire before he shoots the weapon from your hands. Then Iron Man is on you hard and fast.

You and Stark trade punches until he grabs you by the throat. He flies you through the air and slams you to the ground, his foot coming down to pin your metal arm. You struggle to escape as he raises his arm to fire a blast right at your face. But Steve's shield knocks him off balance just enough for you to dodge and Stark turns his sights back on the blond instead.

He knocks your fellow across the room despite his attempts to block, shooting out some kind of shackle to keep him from the fight. But you know that Steve won't give up so you attack Stark while he's distracted, trying to end this mess before anyone gets hurt.

Unfortunately, the other man is faster than you expect, that damn suit giving him an advantage, and you snarl when he manages to lift you up again. You grunt in pain when he rams you hard into some kind of mechanism, your legs kicking at the air. You're pretty sure Stark wants to kill you. His attacks hold no shred of sense or strategy and you know you're fighting for your life when he holds up his blaster to your face; even the serum wouldn't save you from a shot at point-blank range.

So you duck away as best you can, grabbing his hand with metal fingers and squeezing until his blaster cracks. But he just brings out the missiles then, his deflected shot hitting one of the cryo-tanks. The whole thing collapses in a fiery explosion, setting off a chain reaction through the silo and Stark is forced to let you go as machinery crashes down. You duck and roll to your feet with a pained groan, freezing when you see Steve across the wreckage. He's a little dusty but thankfully alive.

“Get out of here!” your fellow shouts and you can’t help but hesitate. You don’t want to leave him; that goes against every fiber of your being. But you know that your captain doesn’t want to hurt his former ally and maybe if you're out of sight, Steve will be able to talk Stark’s anger down. If not, the Quinjet could do a lot to turn this fight around.

So you run toward the nearest control panel, thankful you were awake last time Hydra moved its larger weaponry. You can hear Steve yelling at Iron Man as you hit the button and the overhead door begins to grind open with a shriek of rusted gears. With Stark on a rampage, speed is more valuable than subtlety and straight up is your fastest route to leave.

You start to climb before the door has finished opening, leaping from platform to platform around the silo walls. The metal is cold beneath your fingers and you slip a couple times, memories of falling flashing through your mind. But you don’t have time for fear. It barely slows your progress and you’re halfway to the surface when Stark comes after you. His kick throws you across the chamber and you don't have time to dodge as he charges up his beam. You just brace yourself for impact and you know you're gonna die when Steve jumps in front of you. He reflects the blast back into Stark, throwing him against the wall before he falls down out of sight.

“He's not going to stop,” the blond says grimly as he helps you to your feet. “Go.”

You could kiss him for the rescue – you always want to kiss him – but this is not the time. So you just keep on climbing, leaving Steve to hold the rear guard against his onetime friend. Zemo must be laughing himself silly; he must be so damn proud of his grand plan and you wish that you had killed him in Berlin instead of bending to his whims. You think that you might kill him if you ever see the man again.

Then you’re at the ladder and you scramble up it quickly. You’re almost out when a missile explodes above your head and you’re forced to leap away as the door comes crashing down. But the fight is far from over so you jump to your feet and grab a piece of metal lying on the grate nearby. You hit Stark when he flies up to finish you, getting in a few good blows before he pulls it from your hands. Then the other man wraps his arm around your throat, the metal of his suit digging hard into your skin.

“Do you even remember them?” Stark whispers and his voice is full of hate. He truly thinks that you're a monster, one who feels no guilt for the awful things you've done. As though you don't dream of your targets' broken bodies now that Hydra isn't erasing all your memories.

“I remember all of them,” you tell him and it's the god's honest truth.

You struggle fruitlessly as Stark drags you off the platform, pulling you back down into the pit. But then Steve is leaping toward you. He knocks Iron Man off balance, the added weight too much for his damaged suit to carry and the three of you go tumbling through the air.

You crash onto one of the metal platforms as Steve and Stark fall past you to the floor. You think you might have cracked a rib and your shoulder joint is screaming from the impact. So you lie there for a moment with the wind knocked out of you and all you can think is, _I am so done with this shit._ You are so done with everything.

You roll onto your side with a low groan and see Steve down below you, the blond clearly struggling as he stumbles to his feet.

“This isn't gonna change what happened,” your captain says, still hoping to make Iron Man back down.

“I don't care,” Stark replies. “He killed my mom.”

He doesn't say “my father” or “my parents.” He only says “my mom” and you wonder at his choice of words even as he charges Steve again. The two of them trade punches back and forth, neither holding back. Every strike is quick and brutal, Steve fighting without limits, but the blond is losing ground. Soon Stark manages to pin him, a rain of blows landing on your captain's head.

You need to help him and your eye catches on a flash of red as you look around. So you force yourself to your feet, gritting your teeth against the pain. Then you grab Steve's shield up off the ground and leap into the fray, slamming down the metal on Stark's back.

You continue this onslaught until Steve regains his feet. After that, you don't need words to plan your strategy. You and your captain fall into a rhythm as easily as breathing, throwing the shield back and forth as you trade off blows with Iron Man.

You move as one and for a moment it feels perfect. But then Stark's blaster hits Steve in the stomach, throwing him back into the wall. You hear the blond groan in pain as he struggles to stand again and your vision just goes red. You barely feel the next few punches as you attack Stark solo, forcing his next shot away and then slamming him into the wall with a scream of rage. Stark trying to kill you is understandable; he’s angry and traumatized and it’s not like you haven’t thought of swallowing a bullet more than once. But no one hurts Steve Rogers and gets away with it.

So you grind Stark's head against the concrete, holding him there with your right arm as you dig metal fingers deep into his chest. Your whole body protests but you just grit your teeth and shove even as he struggles, trying to rip out his power source and end this fight for good.

You think you almost have it as you dig your fingers deeper but then his chest lights up beneath your hand. There's a sudden blast of energy and you're thrown backwards to your knees. You try to rise but you can't seem to find your balance and when you look down, your metal arm is gone. Sliced off right below the shoulder, torn wires glowing hot. For a moment you just stare, numb with shock and complete incomprehension until another blast hits you from behind.

You land on the floor in a haze of agony, your vision going blurry as Steve charges Stark again. He blocks the other man's blasts with his shield until he can get in close and messy. Because your fellow is done talking. He drives Iron Man back against the wall, shield and fists doing their best to ruin him.

You think that Steve is winning as your sight fades in and out. Stark seems to fall beneath his onslaught and you struggle to hold on to consciousness. But then the pattern changes. The sound of fists on metal suddenly falls away, replaced by the sound of Steve in pain.

When you force your eyes back open, your captain is on his knees right by you. He doesn't have his shield and you can see red dripping down his face.

“He's my friend,” Steve says, one last attempt at reasoning.

“So was I,” Iron Man replies and if you had the breath, you'd laugh hysterically. Friends don't punch each other the way that Stark is punching Steve. He tosses your fellow toward the outside wall and even in your stupor, you're afraid that he'll fall right through the openings. Thankfully he doesn’t, but he also doesn’t stay down when Stark tells him to.

Of course, the fact that Iron Man even asked means that he never truly knew the blond the way he thinks he did. Your fellow has never given up when a fight was truly hopeless and he’ll never let Stark kill you the way that he wants to. Instead Steve will die to save you and that you can’t allow. So you roll onto your side, fighting through the pain that moving brings.

“I could do this all day,” your captain says, holding up his fists. He's keeping Stark distracted, the other man ignoring you completely as he starts to charge his beam again.

Before Stark can fire, you reach out and grab his ankle with your one remaining hand. He whirls on you instantly, his booted foot smashing straight into your face and you fall back with a cry. But this opening is all your captain needs.

He grabs hold of Stark, lifting the other man high above his head and throwing him to the ground. Then Steve leaps on top of him, his punches fast and vicious until he manages to rip his helmet off. Stark throws his hands over his face as your captain grabs his shield up off the ground and raises it for the final blow. He's clearly afraid that Steve will kill him. But you know better than that. Stark should know better than that if they were truly friends at all.

Your fellow could decapitate his former ally but instead he slams his shield into Stark's power source. You hear a crack as the shield wedges deep into his armor and from the corner of your eye, you see Iron Man's suit start to flicker and die out.

You can hear Steve breathing hard as he sits back and stares at Stark for a long moment. Then he stands up and pulls his shield free of the wreckage before walking to your side. You let him lift you to your feet even though it hurts like hell, the blond supporting most of your weight as he turns to leave.

“That shield doesn't belong to you,” Stark calls out behind you. “You don't deserve it! My father made that shield!”

You feel Steve flinch at the words and if you could actually stand upright, you would have marched right back to Tony Stark and kicked him in the face. That shield belongs more to your captain than it ever did to Howard and for all the guilt you feel about his murder, his son has no damn right. Trying to kill you is one thing; trying to hurt Steve now that the fight is over is simple cruelty.

However, it’s taking all of your energy to keep from passing out and the blond probably wouldn’t want you to kick Stark anyway. As much as your fellow stands up for other people, he’s always been reluctant to protect his own damn self.

So you're not surprised when Steve doesn’t say anything to answer Stark’s accusation. He simply drops his shield to the floor with a dull clang before settling your weight against his side more comfortably. Then you stagger off toward the door together and your captain doesn’t look back as you leave your past behind. He’ll always be your captain whether he has that shield or not.

“Are you sure about this?” you ask when you finally reach the elevator. You don’t want Steve to regret giving up the shield and all it stands for for a broken man like you.

“Yeah, Buck. I’m sure,” he replies without a moment’s hesitation. “I hope Tony will forgive me someday; I hope he’ll come to understand. But the Avengers have always had their problems and I think we were losing sight of the things that truly mattered. So really, pal, don’t worry. I might miss my shield but I don’t need it and I can’t say that I mind the idea of retiring as Captain America for now. Plain old Steve Rogers sounds mighty nice to me.”

“There’s nothing plain about Steve Rogers,” you reply with a faint grin before the elevator stops at the top floor.

When you reach the outside doors, a blast of cold air hits you and you can’t keep from coughing, the next few minutes dissolving into a haze of pain. Breathing is an agony and the stump of your metal arm screams with every motion, tortured circuits sending signals crosswise through your brain.

“Sorry,” you gasp out once you finally have the air. You pry your eyes back open, not sure when you closed them, and find yourself leaning into Steve. His arms are the only thing that’s keeping you from falling and his face is twisted with concern. “I’m okay.”

“No you’re not,” he murmurs, guilt flashing over his expression. “I’m sorry that I dragged you into this. If not for the Avengers, Zemo would have let you hide in peace.”

“Hey, now, this mess is not your fault,” you tell him fiercely. “You don’t get to take the blame.”

“Your friend is right, Captain.”

The voice comes from behind you and you hold Steve tightly as he spins you both around. Your fingers itch for a weapon when you see Catman standing above the entrance and you’re not sure why he didn’t spring his ambush when he had the perfect chance. In truth, it takes longer than it should for your brain to catch up with what your eyes are seeing: the man’s hands held out in friendship and his mask left off his face.

“What do you want?” Steve asks suspiciously, not willing to bargain with your safety. He turns his body slightly, blocking you from Catman’s view in case this is a trick. “I’m still not gonna let you get to Bucky.”

“And you are right to protect him,” the man answers as you gape at him in shock.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I allowed my grief over my father’s death to blind me to the truth,” Catman says before giving you a bow. “I know that saying sorry cannot make up for my actions, but I wish to offer my sincere apologies.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” you mutter, not sure what else to say. No one has ever changed their mind about killing you before.

“Yeah, thanks. Glad you got that off your chest and everything, but we kind of need to leave,” Steve says and you can hear the eye roll in his voice. That’s your Steve – snarky, sarcastic, and refusing to put up with any bullshit – and if your arm didn’t hurt so much, you’d probably start laughing at the surprise on Catman’s face. History really did your fellow a disservice; they turned your firecracker into someone bland and boring, spent so much time on Captain America that people forgot Steve. But he’s always been the man underneath that stupid costume and you have a feeling that this king won’t be the only person he surprises now that he’s set his shield aside.

A particularly sharp pain sends you fading for a moment, your vision graying out. You curl into Steve a little, trying to stay upright and when your ears stop ringing, you hear Catman ask, “Where do you plan to go?”

That’s actually a damn good question. You don’t have another bolt hole and you’re in no shape to keep on running. Maybe Steve has an idea, but you’re afraid he burned his allies just to get you both this far.

“Fuck if I know. Somewhere warm,” you croak before the freezing air sends you into another coughing fit. You can’t seem to stop shivering; you’re pretty sure your injuries have overwhelmed your knockoff serum and if you stand out here much longer, you’re gonna go straight into shock.

“Perhaps I can offer my assistance,” Catman says and you’d swear he actually looked worried if that wasn’t so insane. “Wakanda is both warm and well-protected and I would be honored to give you sanctuary until you decide what you should do. You would be quite safe there; you have my word as king.”

You can’t trust the offer. You can’t trust he won’t hurt Steve. But you’re running short on options and you don’t have the strength to argue when your fellow takes the deal.

“Your word will have to do,” Steve says. He sounds almost as tired as you feel. “We accept your hospitality and we won’t impose for very long. We just need a few days to regroup.”

“You are welcome for as long as you require,” the other man replies. “Now come, we should get your friend out of the cold.”

“Do you have a plane?” Steve asks as Catman leaps down next to you. “Tony probably has a tracker in the Quinjet and even if he doesn’t, I’d like to leave it for him if we can. We left him pretty battered and he’ll need the help to get back home.”

“Yes, I have a plane,” your new ally says with a faint smile and you understand his amusement when he leads you around the far side of Hydra’s bunker. Because the craft that’s waiting for you makes the Avenger’s Quinjet look like a paper airplane or some child’s windup toy. Everything about the plane screams sophistication, from the sleek lines of its wings to the stone-faced women standing guard outside.

They should look ridiculous since they’re holding spears and wearing vibrant armor, but instead they just look dangerous and you’re glad that Catman decided to switch sides. Sure you and Steve might be able to take him and his warriors on a good day, but this has been a very bad day and you honestly aren’t sure who would win that fight right now.

The king says something to his guards; you don’t understand the language, which is rare for you these days. But you’d guess it was some kind of explanation because the one in front stops glaring quite so hard.

Instead she turns to you and gives a shallow bow, “Guests of Wakanda, please be welcome.”

The woman waves her hand and the airplane hatch slides open. You’re more than ready to go inside – too exhausted for suspicion – but you feel Steve hesitate.

“The Dora Milaje will not hurt you,” Catman says. “I gave my word of honor.”

“I'm not doubting that,” your fellow tells him. “It’s just… what about _her_?”

He points toward another woman who had slipped your notice until now. This one is standing near a smaller plane that looks a lot more normal; you think that you’ve seen fighter jets before.

“Aah, yes. I understand your concern but it is not necessary. She has agreed to see that Stark is safe before she flies back to Wakanda,” Catman replies. “Although he has made mistakes, I do not intend to leave him here to die.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Steve says, some of the tension leaking from his body.

“Please, call me T’Challa,” the king offers. “Now, come. We should go inside before your friend there passes out.”

“Right, of course,” your fellow tells him before looking down at you apologetically. “Sorry, Buck. I just had to make sure. Can you walk for me? It’s just a little farther.”

“Mm not’n invalid,” you mutter, though it takes you a couple tries to straighten up again. Steve is still supporting most of your weight as you trudge into the airplane and Catman follows after – although, now that you actually _know_ his name, you probably shouldn’t call him Catman anymore.

It’s blessedly warm inside the plane, particularly when the hatch slides shut behind you, and the interior is comfortably appointed. Honestly, the décor looks more like a swank hotel than a military airplane, but you suppose that’s what you get when you travel with a king. Of course, this plane could have been decorated like an old time speak-easy and you would not give a damn.

“We will treat your wounds if you allow it,” one of the women says, pointing toward the back of the plane. She doesn't offer you painkillers – perhaps realizing that neither of you would take them, not surrounded here by strangers that you only partially trust.

Honestly, even the thought of someone else putting on your bandages makes you feel jittery and you're relieved when Steve just shakes his head. “There's no need for that. I know we look bad but we'll heal quickly once we get some food and rest. Unless you can do something for Buck's arm?”

“I am sure we can. Wakandan scientists are the best in the whole world,” T'Challa tells him with clear pride. Maybe they are – you hope they are – but the arm is one thing. _What are the odds they're good enough to fix this broken brain of mine_? “But unfortunately that must wait until we reach my country and the journey will take time. For now, please make yourselves as comfortable as you can.”

Steve helps you stumble over to a seat – some kind of long low couch that probably has a special name – and you sink into the cushions with a deep groan of relief. No one objects even though you know you’re filthy; the king can probably afford to replace his furniture and it's a little hard to change your clothes right now. The way your arm is sparking, you don't even want to try. Now Steve, he could change, and you know he'd probably like to. But when he starts to let go, you can't help but grab on tighter, pulling the blond down next to you.

“I’ve got to talk to T’Challa,” he says gently. “And you need to get some sleep.”

“You c’n talk from here,” you tell him, holding onto his hand stubbornly. “Won’t rest witho’t you anyway.”

“All right, Bucky,” Steve gives in. He doesn’t seem to mind much going by that smile; it’s fond enough to warm you head to toe.

So you curl up on the couch and arrange your fellow to your liking before laying your head down in his lap. You give a sigh of pleasure when Steve curls his fingers in your hair, paying no attention to your watching audience. You said you weren’t hiding and you meant it, though you hear T’Challa ask, “You and Barnes then? No one told me.”

“No one knew,” Steve answers quietly. “We had to hide it in the old days and after he came back, I wasn’t sure that he remembered so I never mentioned it. I know it’s not illegal now but I didn’t need the pity, not when I would have fought to save him either way. That won't be a problem, will it? I promised Buck he wouldn't be a secret anymore.”

“You will not need to worry about such things in Wakanda. Our laws protect all people equally,” the king is quick to reassure him. “And I will see that you are given private rooms once we arrive. I would let you use mine now, but I am afraid it’s occupied. This plane was not built to carry guests and we are at capacity.”

“Yeah? You been collecting other strays?” your fellow says distractedly as you curl a little closer, wrapping your good arm around his waist.

“I suppose you could say that,” T’Challa replies. “I found my father’s murderer sitting in the snow.”

“You mean Zemo?” Steve asks and his leg tenses slightly underneath your head. “You caught him?”

“Yes. At first I planned to kill him, but he already wished to die,” the other man explains. “And I had allowed my need for vengeance to consume me for too long. I mean to stop in Berlin and give him to the UN on our way to Wakanda. Unless you have an objection? Zemo wronged you both as well.”

“No. I’m not an executioner,” Steve says firmly and you feel no need to protest. “Let the UN have him. If Zemo gives them a confession, maybe that will help clear Bucky’s name. I’m pretty sure I’m on their shit list for the next few centuries, but running would be easier if they lightened up a bit.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” T’Challa warns him. “I have talked to the man in charge of enforcing the Sokovia Accords and he does not seem the type to bend. I believe he wants all so-called superhumans underneath his thumb.”

“Yeah, I got that same impression,” the blond says with a sigh. “Speaking of which, maybe you can help me. Do you know where my friends were taken after me and Bucky flew off in the Quinjet? I won’t leave them in Ross’ clutches if I have another choice.”

“Most of your allies were taken into custody, though the Black Widow disappeared before she could be captured. I do not know where they are being held but I will endeavor to find out,” you hear T'Challa promise before exhaustion drags you down. There’s no way that you can really sleep around this many strangers but you trust Steve more than anyone – more than you trust yourself – and with him keeping watch, you manage a light doze.

“Hey, Buck. Wake up.”

Your fellow nudges your shoulder and you grumble in reply. With anyone else, you would have startled upright, but you recognize the blond enough not to clock him in the face. No one else has ever touched you quite so gently or said your name that way.

“Come on, Bucky. I know you're tired but T'Challa needs us out of sight. We're coming in to Germany and we don't want the UN to realize that we're here.”

That wakes you up and you clamber to your feet with Steve’s assistance, still a bit off balance without your metal arm. The other man looks like he didn’t sleep at all while you were dozing and you make a metal note to fix that as soon as possible. You feel better for the nap – still in pain but not as fuzzy from exhaustion – and you’re more than willing to take a turn at watch for him.

“Good, you’re awake,” T’Challa says, coming up behind you. He’s traded out the cat-suit for more regal garments, looking every inch the king. “The Dora Milaje will keep anyone from entering the plane without permission, but I’d like you away from the hatch just in case. My room will be empty once I remove my prisoner so please make yourselves at home; you are welcome to take a shower and get a change of clothes as well.”

Then the king signals to his guards. You turn to look when you hear Steve breathe in sharply and you find yourself face-to-face with Zemo once again. The other man seems far more haunted than triumphant, though his eyes brighten slightly when he catches sight of you.

“So you survived then,” Zemo says. “It was nothing personal, Sergeant Barnes. I hope you know that. You were nothing but a tool.”

“Story of my life,” you reply, feeling your lips twist bitterly. You should probably hate this man for the way he used you, stealing away your choices and painting your hands with blood again. But you mostly just feel empty. There are always people trying to use the Winter Soldier and if Zemo hadn’t found your triggers, someone else would have tracked you down eventually. You’ll always be a ticking time bomb as long as Hydra’s programming is still buried in your brain.

“Was it worth it?” you ask Zemo. “Was your vengeance worth the pain?”

“Yes,” he answers with a fanatic’s certainty and you don’t try to argue as the Dora Milaje march the man away. Instead you glance at Steve and you can tell the fool is feeling guilty yet again.

“Still not your fault,” you tell him.

“Come on, I could use a shower,” he deflects and you let the subject drop for now. You could push the issue, but you’d rather have that conversation without an audience.

One of the remaining guards shows you to T’Challa’s room and even though it’s fairly compact, you can almost taste the luxury. His chest of drawers alone probably cost more than the docks paid in a year.

“The bathroom is through there,” the woman says, pointing at a door in the far wall. “Please let us know if you need anything.”

As soon as she leaves, you head over to T’Challa’s dresser and start digging through his clothes. It’s a little awkward with one hand and the styles are unfamiliar, but the king is fairly tall and you think you can make do.

“ _Bucky,_ what are you doing?” Steve hisses as you toss a shirt and pants onto the bed.

“What does it look like?” you reply, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Your fellow sounds mortified but T’Challa told you to make yourself at home and even if he hadn’t, you’d never let a bit of rudeness stop you from taking care of Steve. “You said you wanted a shower and I’m not letting you put those clothes back on. You won’t get any sleep like that.”

“I don’t need to sleep,” the other man protests.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re swaying on your feet,” you tell him. “You’ve been running yourself ragged since this whole mess started and you’re going to collapse if you aren’t careful. I’d rather you lie down before you fall down; I can’t promise that I’ll catch you with just one working arm.”

That silences Steve’s objections the way you hoped it would. Sure mentioning the arm is kind of cheating, but you know your fellow will work himself down to the bone if you allow it and he’s less likely to try to get out of resting if he thinks he’s doing it for you.

Although, of course, the blond still has to ask, “What about you? I know you didn’t get much sleep out there. Why don’t you shower first?”

“You really think this thing is waterproof?” you reply, raising one eyebrow as you gesture at the stump of your left arm. Steve is definitely overtired if he didn’t think of that. “Go take your shower, punk. You can help me pry these clothes off afterward.”

You let your smile turn a little lecherous, delighting in the heated flush that climbs up your fella's neck. You love the fact that Steve still blushes despite all you've done together. He's always been better with actions than with words; from what you remember, he was damn adventurous in bed and there are a few memories you intend to reenact as soon as possible.

But not right now. Right now Steve needs to rest and thankfully the other man stops arguing. He takes his change of clothes and heads into the bathroom while you keep guard outside. Although you don't think that T'Challa is planning to betray you, better safe than sorry and there's always the chance that something will go wrong with the UN.

So you listen by the door, trying not to think too hard about Steve in the shower. You can hear some of the Dora Milaje speaking in their own language but everything seems quiet otherwise until someone knocks on the bedroom door.

“Yeah? Who is it?”

“T'Challa,” the man replies. “I wanted to tell you that Zemo has been delivered and we will be leaving soon.”

You open the door cautiously and find the king standing on the other side. One of his guards is with him but his clothes still look pristine; if he got into a fight while he was gone, it isn't obvious.

“No trouble then?” you ask. “I expected that to take longer.”

“I called ahead,” he tells you with a smile. “The other Ross, Everett, met us near the airport to collect my prisoner. The man had some questions or I would have been back sooner – he's less of a fool than many of his colleagues – but I managed to deflect his curiosity.”

“I'm sure you did,” you mutter. You imagine this man is used to being underestimated for the color of his skin. “You want your room back? Steve is in the shower but it shouldn't be much longer.”

“No, I do not wish to disturb you,” T'Challa answers. “I have work to do and I know that you're both tired after your ordeal. You might as well use the bed; the flight back to Wakanda will take about eight hours and I will not be needing it.”

“Thank you. We really are grateful for the help. But... I have to wonder why. Why are you doing this?” you ask, unable to hold back the question anymore. “Even if I didn't kill your father, you know that we're both criminals. If anyone discovers that you helped us, you'll be in a world of hurt. I wouldn't want Wakanda to get in trouble over this.”

“And that is why I offered. You are a good man, Mister Barnes, as is your captain. Once I looked past my grief and anger, that much was obvious,” the other man tells you. “And I have my own reservations about what Ross has done.”

You're not sure that you believe him. No one could read about your past and think you're a good person – except for Steve, of course. But the fellow loves you and that makes him stupid about this kind of thing. Still, T'Challa seems to mean it and you're not dumb enough to look this gift horse in the mouth too closely.

“Well, thanks again,” you tell him. “I guess we'll see you later on.”

“We can talk more in Wakanda if you wish,” he says. “But I am sure your captain will be done soon and I should leave you to your rest.”

The other man is right. You hear the shower stop a moment later and so you tell the king good night. Although you're still rather curious about T'Challa's country – and what the hell this man is thinking – Steve will always be your first priority.

“Feeling better?” you ask as he walks out of the bathroom. Steve is drying off his hair, his borrowed clothes clinging in all of the right places, and you take a moment to appreciate the view. But his smile is still the sweetest thing when he looks up at you.

“I needed that. Thanks, Bucky,” the other man replies as he hangs up his towel. “Now come on, let's get you out of those. I know you can't get your arm wet but maybe you can wash your feet at least. T'Challa has one of those fancy shower heads that you can move around.”

Steve is gentle as he undoes your uniform, some of the buckles sticking from crusted dirt and sweat. He keeps up a running commentary the whole time – asking if you remember your awful shower back in Brooklyn, never more than lukewarm and the water just a trickle –trying to distract you from the pain like you always used to do. You think you had that patter down to a fine art after years of cleaning up Steve's bloody noses and the other man isn't too bad at it himself. However, you still grit your teeth as he drags your Tac vest off your shoulder, unable to completely hide a wince.

“You all right?” the blond asks, pausing worriedly.

“Just get it over with,” you order and your fellow nods. Steve tosses the vest aside before starting on your shirt, but he stalls when trying to figure out how to pull it over your head. Eventually the other man just shrugs and rips your shirt in half; which would have been damn hot if you'd been feeling better. Your arm isn't hurting near as bad now – given enough time, you can get used to anything – but jostling the stump sends a stab of pain down your whole side. So you lean against Steve for a moment, breathing in his scent as you wait for the ache to fade. You could stay like this forever, just fall asleep right here. But the thought of being clean is damn good motivation and eventually you straighten up again.

“You'll have to help me with my boots,” you mutter. “I don't think I can bend that far right now.”

You sit on the edge of the bed as Steve undoes your laces. You know you must smell terrible by this point but the other man doesn't even flinch. He just sets each boot aside and then grins at you dopily.

“What?”

“I'm just glad to be here,” your fellow says. “Do you remember? I used to do this in the war when you were so exhausted that you would have gone to sleep still fully dressed. After you fell, I never thought... I didn't think I'd get the chance to take care of you again.”

“As long as you let me do the same,” you answer as you lean in to steal a kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as one kiss turns to two and you separate from him reluctantly, tracing your fingers down his jaw. Steve chases your lips with his but you nudge him backwards until you have the space to stand.

“Sorry, pal, I gotta change,” you tell him. You unzip your pants one-handed and walk toward toward the bathroom, giving a little shimmy as you tug your trousers off.

“I can feel you staring, Stevie. You looking at my ass?”

“Well, it is a nice one,” he replies. You glance back and you're not surprised to see him flushing, but he sounds more smug than sorry when he asks, “Can you blame me?”

“Hey, I'm not complaining,” you tell him with an exaggerated wink. “But seriously, Steve. I'm gonna go clean up. You lie down before you fall flat on your face.”

With a bit of work you manage to take a partial shower and the other man really wasn't kidding about the water pressure. You're honestly not sure you've ever been in a bathroom quite this nice. If you have, you don't remember and this sure beats Hydra's fondness for ice-cold fire hoses; you don't miss those things at all.

By the time you finish, Steve is sacked out on the bed just like you hoped he'd be. The other man didn't even bother to get under the covers and you can't help but shake your head as you tuck your fellow in. You've done this before, you're almost certain – there's a sense of familiarity to the motions even though you can't quite place the memory. You're pretty sure that Steve was smaller then but apparently even Erskine's serum couldn't make your best friend sensible. The dumb punk still needs you looking after him.

So you sit down next to Steve, stretching out your legs as you lean back against the headboard. You don't mean to fall asleep, but the other man is just so warm and you find your eyes slipping closed despite your best intentions.

When you wake up, you're in Wakanda. You let your fellow take the lead after T'Challa comes to fetch you. Even if the king is planning a betrayal – and by now that seems unlikely – Steve would never allow the man to hurt you without a fight. You think he'd rather die; you know he'd rather die because you feel the same damn way.

Even so, you almost have a panic attack when the first place T'Challa brings you is some fancy laboratory. The man said something about fixing up your arm, but you were expecting a brief stop and chop just to get you functional. Maybe a small clinic or a single doctor who had some time to spare. Not _this_ : not bright lights and gleaming metal tables that are covered with tools and prototypes. Not unfamiliar tech and a horde of strangers, the entire scene underpinned by that antiseptic smell.

The scent seems to claw into your throat, thick and burning, and you freeze on the threshold as you're caught in memories. Suddenly you're back in the hospital that winter when Steve had caught pneumonia, sneaking in to visit at all hours because you were completely terrified that your best friend would die. Suddenly you're back with Hydra, tied down to a table and screaming yourself hoarse when your handlers decided to upgrade your arm again.

“Bucky, you’re all right. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

You come back to yourself slowly. The shadows disappear and you find yourself slumped against the wall with your fella crouched down in front of you. He’s holding you close as he murmurs reassurance, his hands warm against your skin, and you flush when you see T’Challa looking at you worriedly. So you hide your face in the blond’s chest until you manage to stop shaking enough for you to speak.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Not your fault,” he answers. “I should have guessed you might have trouble with a lab. If I’d remembered, I could have asked T’Challa for something more low key. I was just so focused on getting you patched up.”

“I doubt you were expecting that kind of setup either,” you tell him, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “But I don’t think I can go in there. Too many people and the smell… ”

You feel like a coward as you shiver again, your breath still coming much too fast. But Steve just looks back at T’Challa and asks, “Can you…?”

“Of course,” the king says with a nod. He disappears through the door and gradually the sounds of activity begin to fade away. When T’Challa returns a few minutes later, there’s a woman with him. She seems very young to be a doctor but her gaze is fearless as she looks you up and down.

“I hear you don’t like my lab,” the gal says.

“Nothing personal,” you tell her. “Don’t like labs much at all.”

“Well, can’t say I blame you if you _that’s_ the sort of tech that you’ve been getting,” she replies, taking a closer look at your left arm. “I assume that’s what I’m fixing. All function, no style; I suppose it would have been good back in the eighties but… is that thing bolted to your shoulder? What kind of butcher thought rivets were a good idea?”

“The bad kind,” Steve says. His tone is clearly meant to subdue the stream of questions but the girl just rolls her eyes.

“ _Obviously_. But you’re in Wakanda now and I can build you something better. Don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t need…” you start, but she just talks on over you.

“I mean, of course I’ll show you options,” the gal continues, waving off your protests. “I would never give you an arm that you don’t like. And hey, if you decide you’d rather rock that one-armed scruff a little longer, I think you pull it off. But either way, that old thing has got to be removed. You may be enhanced but you’re still lucky you haven’t been electrocuted or gone into septic shock.”

“I’m hard to kill,” you tell her.

“That’s no excuse for not getting proper treatment, white boy,” she retorts. “Now shush the lot of you and let me do my thing.”

She keeps up a running commentary in a mix of English and Wakandan as she scans your shoulder, darting in and out of the lab to grab the equipment that she needs. You’re grateful for her willingness to adapt her methods, though you can’t help tensing up when she kneels down next to you. Your frayed nerves see anyone by your weak side as a danger and if not for Steve’s calm presence, you might have run again. She offers you some painkillers to help you loosen up but you just shake your head; any drug strong enough to work would probably knock you out entirely. You’re used to being worked on without anesthesia and unless she plans to cut your damn arm off with a saw, you’d rather stay alert.

“I promise that my sister knows what she is doing,” T’Challa tells you as you try to relax. “She is the best in Wakanda.”

“The best in the world,” she corrects without an ounce of modesty. “But try to hold still if you can; this will be delicate.”

You’re expecting it to hurt and the first touch does sting a little. However, the princess is far gentler than any of Hydra’s doctors as she digs into your arm. She separates some wires and pulls off the metal panels, the entire process underscored by scornful muttering. Then she makes a noise of triumph and the pain just disappears.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you whisper, looking at your fella with wide eyes. You can’t remember the last time your shoulder wasn’t aching, a constant strain of tearing muscles and a pain down in your bones. You’d grown used to the sensation, endured it because you had to just as you’d endured a thousand other minor agonies.

“Of course it doesn’t hurt,” the princess tells you, seemingly oblivious to your awed surprise. Or perhaps she simply sees it as her due. “I’m not an amateur, not like the people who installed this thing for you. Honestly, it looks like they gave you a half-tested prototype and then kept grafting on the changes afterward. That’s just shoddy workmanship.”

“I’m pretty sure I was the test,” you snort and something in your tone stops her cold. She looks at you and then down at the chunk of metal in her hands before her face twists with an expression between horror and sympathy.

“Well, you won’t be doing that again,” she promises. “If you decide you want another in the future, you’ll have your choice of options and rigorous testing the whole way. I’d need to do some surgery to remove the old support frame, but I’d want you healthy first and seriously, white boy, you look like crap right now. Come back and talk to me once you’ve slept off your exhaustion.”

“I’ve been tired for eight decades, darling,” you reply with a faint grin. “That might take a while.”

“Good thing it’s not a race then,” she retorts. The princess snips off a few more wires and then covers the stump of your shoulder with a bandage, soft and thick to stop the metal from scratching anything. Then she sits back on her heels and turns to T’Challa. “Find them some beds, brother, before your friend here passes out.”

“That is the plan, sister,” he tells her, his tone and smile fond. “If you are ready?”

“Yeah, let’s do this,” you say, taking the hand Steve offers to pull you to your feet. You still feel almost weightless, light and insubstantial without the pain to ground you, and you hold onto your fellow's arm tightly as T’Challa leads you down the hall.

When you reach the door, the princess calls, “Get some rest. Doctor’s orders,” and you let go of Steve just long enough to give her a sharp salute.

You still have trouble believing that the royal family of Wakanda thinks that you’re worth helping, especially when T’Challa was so intent on murder earlier. But when the king shows you to your guest room, you decide that you don’t care. Whatever his motivations – temporary insanity or political power play, bleeding heart or plain delusion – you should enjoy the kindness while it lasts. You can worry about the rest of the world once T’Challa comes back to his senses because there’s a king-sized bed calling your name right now.

You shouldn’t still be tired after sleeping on the plane. But as soon as you see that bed, nothing can hold back the wave of bone-deep exhaustion that washes over you. Even with the serum running through your veins, you’ve pushed beyond your limits for too long and now your body is shutting down as the bill comes due.

You stagger forward and collapse onto the mattress, only vaguely aware of Steve talking to T’Challa by the door. You’re already half asleep when gentle hands tug off your shoes, the mattress dipping as your fella climbs in next to you. He tucks himself against your back and murmurs quietly, “I’ve got you, Bucky. Sleep,” and you’re out before he presses a kiss against your cheek.

You’re not sure how long you sleep. You know that time is passing because the sun has moved when you wake up, but you barely manage to stay upright long enough to use the toilet and get some food in you. You only eat cause Steve is there; you haven’t made it to the kitchens and you wouldn’t trust a stranger but the other man brings you a tray of unfamiliar delicacies. You try strange fruits and meats together, laughing when the blond eats something much too spicy and fighting over the last piece of sweet melon. Every moment is wonderfully domestic and you feel guilty when you start to yawn again. But the other man just smiles and stays to tuck you in.

This pattern repeats a couple times until you finally open your eyes and don’t feel the need to close them right away. Instead you give a languid stretch, enjoying the warmth and the softness of the sheets against your skin. You honestly can’t remember the last time you felt this good: nothing hurts, nothing even aches, and the undercurrent of fatigue that’s been your boon companion has finally disappeared. Instead you’re warm and comfortable, no ice, no snow, no voices, and there’s exactly nowhere that you need to be.

You turn your head and your breath catches in your chest when you see Steve lying next to you. The other man looks like some kind of angel in the soft morning light, his face relaxed in sleep and his hair turned to shining gold. He’s fucking gorgeous and your heart swells with emotion: fondness, love and wonder swirling in your chest. You still don't know how you got this lucky and you reach out to touch Steve's skin just to ensure that he is real. You're half expecting your hand to pass right through him but his cheek is warm beneath your fingers and all you can think as the blond's eyes flutter open is, _Damn, he's beautiful._

“Hey, you're awake,” Steve murmurs, reaching up to clasp your hand. “How're you feeling?”

“Like a million bucks,” you answer. “I think I’m finished sleeping for a while. Back to a normal schedule now.”

“I'm glad to hear it. You deserve to feel good, Bucky.”

“So do you, Stevie,” you reply and you can feel your grin turn wicked. “In fact, I know I haven't been around much to keep you entertained. Why don't you let me make it up to you?”

“You sure?”

“Am I sure? Seriously, you gotta ask? Get over here and kiss me, idiot.”

Steve doesn't need another invitation. He reaches out to pull you closer, rolling you beneath him as he claims your mouth again. You push into the kiss, slow and sweet and filthy. The weight of his body presses down into you and you revel in the feel of him, grinding your hips together lazily. You want the other man to feel how hard he makes you, how everything he does just takes your breath away.

Your fellow is still kissing you, searching deep and hungry as you wrap your arm around his neck. You woke up raring to go but you're not the only one and you can't hold back a groan when the blond's length slides against your skin.

“Come on, Stevie, just like that,” you order, slotting your legs together and bucking into him. You rock upwards, heat building in your groin as you keep on trading kisses. You lick your way between his lips and trail kisses down his jaw, Steve gasping out your name when you suck a mark into his neck. You could get off just like this, lose yourself in the feel and scent and sight of him all limned with golden light.

But you have the time now to love your fella properly. This is no rushed encounter back in Brooklyn, trying to stay quiet because you know the walls are thin. You aren't stuck out on the front lines, taking solace in each other the day before a battle in case you don't come home again.

This is sunlight and sweet kisses, soft touches and slick skin. Steve moans for you when you stroke your hand across his shoulders. He gasps and whimpers into your mouth when you rub your thigh against his length. He's warm and real and gorgeous and most importantly, he's yours.

So you swallow the blond's groan as you roll your hips together, sliding your hand down beneath the sheets. You flex your fingers against the smooth curve of Steve's ass and he gasps out your name sharply, burying his face against your neck. Your fella always did fall apart when you stroked his skin like this.

“Wait, Bucky. Wait a sec,” Steve says and you let him go the instant that his statement registers.

“What is it? Something wrong?”

“No, nothing like that,” the other man is quick to reassure you. “I'm just gonna lose it if you keep doing that.”

“I'm pretty sure that was the plan,” you answer, finding your smirk again when he leans in for a kiss. You thread your fingers through Steve's hair and let him take control as he slides your mouths together. Your fella deepens the kiss, pushing to take everything you give. His tongue sweeps across yours lips before plundering your mouth, mapping every corner hungrily. Then he sucks on your bottom lip and draws back reluctantly.

“Said that I was gonna ride you when we finally had a bed,” Steve murmurs, pressing fleeting kisses to your skin. “Want to feel you, Bucky. Want you to love me properly.”

The blond meets your gaze, his eyes dark with desire, and you're nearly overwhelmed by a wild rush of heat.

“God, Stevie. You're gonna be the death of me,” you groan. You slide your hand down his back and squeeze his ass again. “Tell me we have something. I'm still not gonna hurt you.”

“Right. Right, yeah,” you fellow mutters. He kisses you one more time before scrabbling at the bedside table, nearly dumping the whole drawer out when you grind up into him. You roll your hips lazily, enjoying the view as Steve sits back and holds up a small tube.

“I found this a few days ago,” he says with a triumphant grin. “Apparently T'Challa likes to keep his guests well-stocked.”

“Lucky for us,” you answer before tugging him back down. Things get a little messy as Steve slicks your fingers, teasing and stroking everywhere that you can reach. The other man writhes against you, gasps and whimpers falling from his lips as you breach him bit by bit. He's so tight, clenching hard around your fingers as though to suck you in. You try to stretch Steve gently but he keeps urging you on faster until you can't take it anymore. You pull your fingers out and your fellow rises up above you, a vision in the light.

“Stevie,” you whisper, the word punching out of you as the other man sinks down. He's slick and hot and perfect, everything you've ever wanted back in your arms again. When your fellow starts to move, you roll your hips to meet him and both of you groan loudly as you drive in deep. You know you won't last long, not with the way he feels. But you've both waited long enough.

So you let your eyes slip closed as heat builds inside you, your hand clutching at Steve's waist. You lose yourself in warmth and rough desire, fierce kisses and sweet promises murmured in your ears. The other man ride you hard, his moan a thing of beauty when you buck up into him. You want to hear Steve fall apart, want to feel him clench around you, and when reach up to stroke him firmly, your fellow does just that.

The blond comes with a choked off cry as he spills across your fingers and you can't help but follow him. You throw back your head and shout his name, giving one last thrust before you fall down into bliss.

When you regain your senses, Steve is curled against your chest, warm and pliant and somehow even more adorable. You've always loved him like this, the way his whole face softens and he cuddles into you. This is the Steve Rogers that no one else gets to see.

You stroke your fellow's hair, giving yourself a few minutes to enjoy the afterglow. But the serum in your veins enhanced more than your healing and soon you feel Steve harden once again. So you roll him over until you're the one on top this time. Then you repeat your actions from the other angle and the stretch of Steve inside you still feels like coming home.

You spend most of the day in bed, only convinced to get up when your stomach won't stop growling and you don't have the energy to go another round. At least, that’s what you think. But when you let Steve pull you into the shower, the sight of him all wet and naked gives you a second wind. There’s room enough for both of you to be quite acrobatic and the water never goes cold even though you take your sweet time in getting clean.

Once you finally get dressed, Steve leads you to the kitchens and it’s immediately obvious that he’s charmed the palace chefs as he charms most everyone. The men and women greet you warmly even though you know you must be disrupting their routine. No one seems to mind your presence, the head chef sitting you down at a table with a basket of fresh bread while one of the others starts gathering a meal.

“You caught us just after dinner so there are plenty of leftovers,” the woman tells you. “Please stay and eat your fill.”

“Thank you. But if we’re in the way, I can grab a tray like usual.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she says, waving off Steve’s offer. “It is good to see our work appreciated and you both look in need of feeding. I assume this is the person all those trays were for?”

“Yeah, this is Bucky,” the blond replies, grinning at you fondly as he reaches out to take your hand.

“You have good taste. He is a cute one,” the chef tells him, looking you over with a wink. Although your fellow flushes at her words, he doesn’t let go and you really could get used to this. “Now eat your fill, the both of you. I’ll be supervising kitchen cleanup if you need anything.”

The cooks load you down with breads and meats and dishes that you still don’t know the names of until even two starving supersoldiers can barely take another bite. You ask Steve about Wakanda while you eat, wanting to hear all the details you missed out on when you kept falling back asleep. So the other man tells you about the palace and the city, about the planning for T’Challa’s coronation that he keeps getting roped into. But eventually Steve runs out of comic stories and you sit up a little straighter when his tone turns serious.

“I’m glad you woke up now, Bucky,” the other man says softly. “There’s something I need to tell you and I was running out of time.”

“What it is?” you ask, looking for the exits automatically. You’re already thinking the worst – Hydra found you, Ross found you, T’Challa is a traitor after all. “Do we need to leave?”

“What? No. We’re safe here,” Steve answers and now you’re just plain confused. Why does he look so worried if you don’t have to run? “It’s just that T’Challa managed to find out where my friends are. They’re in a special prison and it’s awful, Bucky. I’ve got to get them out.”

“Of course you do,” you tell him. _That explains the guilt at least._

“You don’t mind?” he asks. “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye but they’ve been trapped too long already. From what I’ve heard about Ross, I probably don’t have much time to spare.”

“Oh, right,” you say, looking down at your left arm. Somehow you’d managed to forget that it was missing; that Steve would be going into battle without you at his side. “I suppose I wouldn’t be much use with this.”

“Yeah,” Steve winces. “I could send someone else instead.”

The words sound like they pain him but you know he’d do it for you. He would but he shouldn’t and so you just shake your head. “No. I know you, Stevie. You’re a dumb punk with a martyr complex but that’s the man I fell in love with and I don’t want you to change. Go be a hero. Rescue your friends. Just make sure you come back afterward.”

“I will, Buck. I promise.”

You spend the next two days helping your fellow plan his jailbreak, offering suggestions on the entry and dragging him off into the city when his eyes begin to cross. On your first trip T’Challa joins you, apparently even kings-to-be still need a break sometimes, and the other man makes a surprisingly good tour guide. The king doesn't exactly introduce you to his subjects – he's not completely crazy – but he knows every hidden treasure in his city and he shares them happily.

Everywhere you look, Wakanda is full of color. The capital is bustling with sounds and smells, so full of life and joy that it nearly overwhelms you, and you think that you could fall in love with this country easily.

T’Challa clearly loves his people and when his sister decides to tag along on your next outing, you can see she feels the same. The princess is quick and sharp and brilliant, her words markedly sarcastic but there's kindness on her face. She almost never uses your real name even though her brother finally gives you a formal introduction and she moves with the air of someone who has no doubt about her place within the world.

It takes about five minutes for you to decide that you adore her.

Shuri reminds you of your little sisters – if they’d been fond of building rockets – and she has you wrapped around her finger just as quickly as they did. Somehow the princess even convinces you to visit her laboratory, a place you never thought you’d go back to willingly. You’re nervous at first. You think you’ll always be a little nervous when you see white walls around you. But Shuri lures you in with talk of testing Steve’s equipment and now that you’re less shell-shocked, her lab is clearly very different from the darkness that still haunts your memories.

So you let the princess show off her creations, trying out a few of the less dangerous inventions, and you don’t have to pretend to be impressed. With gear like this, Steve’s jailbreak should go smoothly and you try not to worry when he leaves.

The blond is as prepared as you could make him. He’s well-armored and well-armed with both tech and information. T’Challa even sent some of his guards along as backup and the Dora Milaje are warriors through and through. You tell yourself that he’ll be fine and you know it’s probably true.

But you should still be with him.

You should be the person standing at Steve’s shoulder. If he’s going to keep on running into danger – and you know the damn fool will – then at your fellow’s side is the only place you want to be. Steve is yours: yours to love, yours to hold, and yours to protect as long as you both live.

Which means you need your arm back. Shuri has already shown you a few options and given what you’ve seen of Wakandan tech so far, even her first prototype would probably kick ass. The princess will build you a weapon if you want it, as deadly as the Winter Soldier’s but without the blood-soaked history. She trusts you to use her gifts for good instead of evil – to protect instead of ruin – and that’s why you can’t accept.

Someday Hydra will find you. Someday they’ll speak the words and the Winter Soldier will run rampant once again, a Trojan horse in the very heart of Wakanda’s capital. You’ll betray T’Challa then. You’ll betray his kindness, his forgiveness, and his trust in equal measure, and the more you let his sister give you, the more damage you will do before you’re finally taken out.

You can’t make yourself more dangerous as long as Hydra’s poison still lingers in your mind. But you also know that you’ll go crazy if you have to watch Steve fight without you. You’re caught between two absolutes – two futures you can’t bear. You need another option and it’s this need that drives you to seek T’Challa out.

His guards don’t try to stop you from entering his office. The women just wave you through the door as their king greets you with a smile and the lack of suspicion tells you that you are doing the right thing.

“Hello, my friend,” T’Challa says, putting down his paperwork.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask before adding, “In private, I mean,” a little awkwardly.

“The Dora Milaje are sworn to secrecy,” the king replies. “And I am fairly certain that they know everything. But you may close the door if you wish. We shall pretend that they are not listening.”

That will have to do. So you shut the door behind you and then pull up a chair. You sit in silence for a minute, fidgeting anxiously. Although you know what you need to say, you’re not sure how to say it. But T’Challa doesn’t press you; he just waits patiently.

“How much do you know about the Winter Soldier?” you ask eventually.

“A great deal,” the other man replies. “When I believed you killed my father, I gathered as much information about you as I could. Your past is one of the reasons that I chose to give you sanctuary.”

“Most people would say that my past makes me a monster.”

“Most people are fools,” T’Challa answers evenly. “They want someone else to blame for all their sorrow and at first I was no different. Hating you was easy. But once I looked beneath the surface, I realized that you were as much a victim as my father. You did not deserve what Hydra did and you do not deserve to take the blame for the Winter Soldier’s crimes.”

“Maybe,” you tell him, still a little shocked by the trust he shows in you. “But I am dangerous. The UN got that much right. You know I tried to kill you in Berlin.”

“Yes, I know. At the time I thought it normal, but lately I have wondered. Why was that fight so different from the rest?”

“Because that was the Winter Soldier,” you reply. Speaking the words feels like pulling off a bandage and suddenly the rest of your explanation just comes spilling out. “If you read my file, you know that Hydra liked to wipe my memory. Dug their hands into my brain and ripped my conscience out. I’ve been trying to be better. Trying to keep the Soldier buried. But Hydra’s triggers are still there. Zemo said the words and that was it; I was his puppet to command.”

“I am sorry,” T’Challa says, watching you with open sympathy. “That does explain some things.”

“I’m not here for your pity. I’m here to ask for help,” you tell him. “If anyone can fix my mind, it would be your sister and I need the triggers out. Otherwise, I’ll always be a danger to you and Steve and everyone around me. I’ll always be a bomb just waiting to go off and I can’t let you keep helping me; you can’t give me an arm, your trust and freedom as long as that’s the case. You should probably lock me up – if you were being safe, you would – but if there’s another option, I’d rather try that first. I don’t know what Zemo did with the instruction manual but I know the words – I have to – and maybe that will be enough.”

“There was a manual?”

“Of course there was,” you snort. “The little red book of brainwashing. For a group of evil scientists, Hydra sure loved its paperwork and whenever they shipped off the Winter Soldier, they usually shipped the manual too.”

“I think there is something I must show you,” T’Challa says, sounding oddly serious. He walks over to the wall and when he touches something, a painting of the palace slides up to reveal a hi-tech safe. You look away as the king presses his hand against the panel and then enters a combination, feeling no need to learn his secrets. But when you look back, T’Challa is holding a familiar scarlet notebook and you snap to your feet instantly.

“Where did you get that?” you demand, panic welling in your chest. Although you don’t think he means to hurt you, you back up anyway. The farther you get from that damn book, the better off you’ll be.

“Zemo had it,” the king tells you quietly. He sets the notebook down on his desk and walks toward you slowly, holding both his hands out soothingly. “I did not know what it was and I still haven’t had the time to translate the text. But I had a feeling that I should not hand it off to the UN and I am glad I listened now.”

“Yeah, that would have been…” you trail off with a shudder at the thought.

“If you ask, I will destroy it,” the other man says. His voice is low and gentle as though trying to tame a frightened animal and you have to admit, that’s not too far off the mark. You barely manage not to flinch when he reaches out to clasp your shoulders, taking one shaky breathe before you let the tension fall. “Shuri cares about you and I know she’ll wish to help you. With or without that notebook, we will not turn you away. The decision is yours, my friend. If you wish to take the book, I will forget I ever saw it. Or give it to my sister and I swear we will destroy it the moment you are healed.”

“I- I don’t want that thing near me,” you whisper. “And Shuri shouldn’t have to read about what Hydra did. But I’m selfish and a coward. If that book can help her fix me, then I’m weak enough to ask.”

“I do not think you are a coward,” T’Challa tells you. “You are one of the bravest men I have ever met and we will do everything in our power to see that you are freed. Please trust us if you can.”

After you give him a shaky nod, the king picks up Hydra’s notebook. He tucks it inside his jacket and you feel better as soon as that red cover is hidden out of sight. Then T’Challa takes you to Shuri and explaining what you need is easier the second time around. The princess offers her help immediately just as her brother did, though she can’t promise fast results: “I know I’m amazing, but I’m not a neurosurgeon and I don’t want to make things worse. We’ll need to do this carefully.”

“I don’t need you to cure me overnight. Breaking my programming at all would be a miracle.”

The attempt alone is more than you ever thought you’d get.

So you spend the next few days in Shuri's lab, letting her take brain scans and trying not to hyperventilate. Being near any kind of medical equipment still makes you twitchy, although the memories of Hydra seem to be fading gradually. You keep the princess company as she pores over your results, borrowing her computer to refresh the international news sites constantly. If Steve’s mission goes tits up, you’re sure that Ross will brag about it and so you watch for any mention of Captain America being taken into custody.

In this case, silence is a good thing. That’s what you tell yourself. But you’re always grateful when Shuri says she has more tests to run. Trying not to panic serves as a distraction from your worry over Steve.

You don’t always manage to stop yourself from freaking out. When Shuri asks if she can try one of your triggers, you bolt from the lab without a word and it takes three hours before you feel calm enough to go back there again. You’re half expecting to be punished but the princess greets your return with heartfelt apologies. She’s more worried about you than about her research and that realization gives you the strength to listen when she tries to explain.

“I don’t want to do that to you. I really don’t. But I think I’ll have to use them,” Shuri tells you. “Those bastards altered your brain chemistry in ways I’ve never seen and I need to know exactly what happens when you’re triggered if I’m gonna make it stop.”

“There’s really no other way? I don’t want you to meet the Winter Soldier. I don’t want to bring him _here_.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should be able to do better,” the girl says and she shouldn’t sound like that. Shuri’s voice is supposed to be filled with pride not self-recrimination and if you’d known that this would harm her, you never would have asked.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t expect to undo seven decades worth of damage easily,” you tell her, wrapping your arm around her shoulders. “And I’d rather you put me back on ice than hurt you willingly.”

“That’s it! Maybe that’s the answer!” Shuri exclaims. Her brief depression is forgotten as she turns to look at you with a mad light in her eyes. “We could put you back in stasis, just for a little while. Deep enough that you wouldn’t have to be the Winter Soldier but awake enough to read your brain activity. I have all of Hydra’s notes and I know I could design a better cryo-chamber, something much more comfortable. You could sleep through the whole process and then just wake up when you’re healed.”

Your first instinct is refusal. You hated the ice. You hated the cold that seeped into your bones. But you also meant what you said; you’d rather freeze than keep on hurting the people that you love.

“How- How long?” you manage to choke out. “How long would I be under?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” the princess admits, her expression dimming slightly. “I won’t know for sure until see what your brain looks like. Could be anywhere from a few days to a couple months all told. But I really think this plan is our best shot.”

“If you say it, then it’s true,” you tell her before sighing heavily. “I need to talk to Steve.”

You know that the other man won’t like it; you wouldn’t in his place. But even though the thought of going under terrifies you, you think you have to try it anyway.

“Should I keep looking for more options?” Shuri asks you quietly.

“No. Start designing your new chamber,” you reply. “I figure it will probably take a few days and we can't do anything till Steve gets back; he would never forgive me if I went under without telling him goodbye. But we’re gonna do this, princess. We're gonna do this and I hope to God it works.”

Of course, Shuri being Shuri, she has the chamber built and tested by the time that Steve comes back. The other man returns with a few new bruises, flush with the success of a job well done. He brings Sam to Wakanda with him – having dropped off the rest of his allies on the way – and Flyboy makes a startled noise when you greet your fellow with a kiss.

“I suppose that does explains things,” Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder once you finally break for air. “Seriously, though. I’m happy for you. You deserve some romance in your life.”

Flyboy doesn’t seem to hate you anymore. In fact, the man apologizes for being so suspicious, though you think that might be guilt. Sam says it’s his fault that Stark found you and maybe he did help, but you’re pretty sure that Zemo had to have a backup plan.

“Don’t sweat it too much,” you tell him. “Not like I haven’t made plenty of mistakes and you were trying to do right. You've been a good friend to Stevie when I couldn't. Keep doing that and we'll be square.”

Sam promises he will and you feel a little better about going under with the other man around. Hopefully Flyboy will stop your fella from doing anything too stupid while you’re gone.

You haven't told Steve yet. Instead you give yourself the evening to enjoy his company. You ask about the jailbreak and you're glad to hear his allies came through more or less unscathed. But the entire time you're talking, the only thing that you can think about is taking Steve to bed. His eyes are just as heated and you barely last through dinner before making your excuses.

“Have fun!” Shuri calls after you. She clearly knows exactly where you're going but you're not ashamed of Steve. Far from it actually. So you give the princess a smug smile of your own before dragging the other man back to your rooms. There you proceed to show your fellow just how much you missed him and neither of you gets much sleep that night.

You tell Steve about Shuri's plan early the next morning and you were right, he doesn’t like it. In fact, the expression on his face damn near breaks your heart in two.

“Y- You want to leave me, Bucky?” the blond asks, looking completely stricken. “But I just got you back again.”

“No, Stevie,” you murmur, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m not doing this to leave you; I’m doing it to stay.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If you want to stay, then _stay_.”

“And what happens when someone figures out my triggers, Steve? What happens when you find yourself in bed with the Winter Soldier instead of Bucky Barnes?” you ask him, praying that he listens to your words. “I nearly killed you back in DC and I can’t do that again. If we don’t fix my fucked up head then I’ll never be able to stop looking over my shoulder. I’ll never be able to trust that I won’t hurt you and that’s no way to live. Please, Stevie. I know that it’s not fair but please don’t try to stop me. Please just be there if you can.”

Your fella looks like he wants to argue. He starts to speak half-a-dozen times and if he asks you not to do this, you know you’ll probably give in. But Steve doesn’t ask. He just pulls you into his arms, burying his face in your hair and pleading, “Promise you won’t forget me. Not again.”

“Don’t you know, pal?” you ask, leaning back just far enough to look him in the eyes. “You’re the love of my damn life, Stevie, and no matter what happens, nothing is gonna keep me from finding you again.”

“You better mean that, Bucky,” Steve murmurs, sounding close to tears. “You're the love of my life too.”

Then you take your fellow's hand and lead him to Shuri's laboratory. Steve's presence is a comfort as the princess preps the chamber and another Wakandan doctor gives you a change of clothes. Your fellow hangs back a little, waiting until the man is finished before returning to your side.

“You sure about this?” your fellow asks again.

“I can't trust my own mind,” you remind him with a slightly bitter laugh. “So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing. For everybody.”

That’s what you say aloud but you know Steve hears the message underneath: _I don’t want to be a weapon anymore._ You know that your fellow hears you because he doesn’t ask again. He just leans in to kiss you one last time.

“I'm gonna miss you, Bucky,” the blond says quietly.

“Me too, Stevie,” you reply. “But I've got to do this now.”

He releases you reluctantly and you turn to follow Shuri. Steve stands watch as you climb into the chamber and you’re warmed by the promise in his eyes.

 _This is only temporary,_ that’s what his expression tells you. If the other man hasn't given up on you by now then it ain't never gonna happen and he's stubborn enough to turn his faith into reality. Because your fellow is right. You may have been the Winter Soldier but you're also Bucky Barnes and once your triggers have been deactivated, maybe you and Steve together will find some kind of peace. You and him against the world, that's how it's meant to be.

Until then, you’ll be waiting and one thought lingers in your mind as the darkness pulls you under. You hope there will be plums when you wake up.

 

_End_


End file.
